


Road to Nowhere

by erisgregory



Category: Supernatural, Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fusion, Crossover, Eventual Smut, Hunter Scott McCall, Hunter Stiles Stilinski, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Mystery, Pining, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-05
Updated: 2015-04-07
Packaged: 2018-03-10 14:26:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 25,593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3293738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/erisgregory/pseuds/erisgregory
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles is eager to get back in the field with Scott, so he jumps at the chance to help when Dean calls them out on a case. It sounds like a typical rogue werewolf problem, but it's Beacon Hills, and Stiles hasn't been back for almost thirteen years. With Scott by his side, Stiles thinks he could face just about anything, as long as he can focus on the facts at hand and not get too caught up in the memories, but before they even get to town, Stiles knows, it isn't going to be that simple.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Well, We Know Where We're Going

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first real attempt at writing most of these characters, and certainly my first crossover fic. I don't plan to have too much Sam and Dean so I'm not listing this in the SPN fandom. Hopefully I'll be able to do the characters justice, especially Scott, which is the one I am most worried about. This fic is about halfway written already, so I am hoping to be updating on about a weekly basis. It is unbeta'd, so please feel free to point out any errors I can correct. I'll update characters, tags, and warnings as I go, but if I miss any you think should be here, please let me know! Thanks for reading! (edit: at a reader's suggestion, I did add this fic to the spn fandom, but please don't hate me for it, I love you.)

“Do I have to ask what this is about?” Stiles rolled over and blinked blearily at the alarm clock by the bed. His voice was still sleep-thick and scratchy. Dean’s, on the other hand, was the same level of gruff it always was.

“Probably not, knowing you.” Dean’s voice was heavy on the other line but Stiles could hear the subtle hint of fondness in it anyway.

“I was expecting to hear from you or Sam eventually. Too many werewolf casualties. Time to call in the big guns.” Stiles rubbed at the grit in his eyes. The clock read 4:33 am. Way too damn early for phone calls, but somehow still not too early for sarcasm.

Dean huffed a small laugh in his ear. “Alright hot shot, take it down a notch. We’re not calling you out here where we are. We got two suspicious deaths that are similar, but they’re in California and you’re as close as we have right now.”

“And we’re the experts.” Stiles added with a grin. He knew he was pushing Dean, but he couldn’t seem to help it. Ever. It was too easy.

“And you’re the noobs with the inside track so you get to do the grunt work. Get out to Beacon Hills and see if this has anything to do with the underground alpha network. If it does, we’ll need you to take care of it or at least call in for backup and if it doesn’t--”

“Take care of it anyway?” Stiles asked. His mind was sort of tripping over the town though, Beacon Hills, and he was trying not to let anything come across in his voice.

“Yeah, that. Don’t forget to check in, Sam’ll have conniption if you don’t.”

“Sure, sure.” Stiles didn’t need Dean to remind him to be careful. He and Scott might be the new guys but they’d been around long enough for Stiles to recognize when Dean was worried. 

Dean signed off and Stiles lay in his bed for all of five more seconds and then he dialed Scott and pulled himself up to get packed. He hadn’t been back to Beacon Hills for nearly twelve years, but he had a prickling on the back of his neck that warned him this was no time for a trip down memory lane.

When Stiles tells the story of how he came to be partnered up with a werewolf he tells the funny parts and everyone always has a good laugh. It’s important to keep them smiling, keep them distracted, because if they focus too long on all the other parts of the story they might just have time to think too much about who Scott is or what his or Stiles’s motives are. Scott’s a good guy though, so Stiles has perfected keeping the other hunters away from him. Hell he’d had enough practice with his own dad. If Sheriff Stilinski could be convinced, then everyone else ought to just fall in line. 

The first three months had been the hardest.

Not because of Scott. He and Stiles were the kind of instant best friends that made everyone else gag. Scott had expected the usual hunter shit about werewolves but Stiles had asked if it made getting dates any easier. “You can smell the attraction right, like, arousal, of the sexual kind?” He’d rolled the r’s of arousal and waggled his eyebrows. After that they’d been practically inseparable. No, the trouble, as always came from the other hunters. Especially the ones on the fringes of the group, or those outside of Sam and Dean’s network. 

That first job together was outright ridiculous, for the most part. They were sent after a feral werechild who was hell bent on terrorizing kids at a summer camp in Montana. Child was a very broad term, because the little guy was only about two according to Scott’s senses, if that. He was starved and scared and he spent the entire trip plastered to Scott and insisted on calling Stiles, “Mama.” It was a crazy trip back to Dean’s base of operations, but by the time they arrived, their little passenger was much less feral and much more like family. So it nearly killed both of them when the others made Scott wait on the porch like an outsider. Or worse, like an animal, while the decided the werebaby’s fate.

He doesn’t retell that part. Mostly because even thinking about it still makes him angry. He remembers it all with a white hot fury. He remembers the screaming match he got into with some of the people he didn’t know and how Sam had to physically remove him before he got violent. He remembers the way Scott had smiled bravely and shrugged, telling Stiles that as long as the baby came out of it safe that was all that mattered to him. And that he didn’t need Stiles to fight his battles for him. 

In the end the baby was given to a good home and he and Scott were allowed to deliver him. They still check in with the Sanchez Pack from time to time to hear how much little Ben has grown. And if Stiles gets choked up about it and Scott still elbows him and calls him “Mom”, well no one else has to know.

It’s been almost a year since that first job, but they still sometimes meet with the same crap as always when dealing with the other hunters. Maybe that’s why they’re usually the last to be called in, maybe it’s not because they’re too green. Stiles can’t be sure and he doesn’t need to worry about it right now at the start of their next job, so he zipped his bag shut, flicked out the lights and jogged out to his jeep.

Then he groaned, remembering at the last minute he’d promised to keep his dad in the loop whenever he and Scott got sent out, so he typed him out a quick text before pulling out of the drive and heading to pick up Scott. 

Scott lived with his mom in the next town over which turned out to be the best and worst thing about all of it. Mainly because they had a tendency to want to spend too much of their free time together, but they also had to work at being adults, twenty two thank you very much, which was hard enough without arranging sleepovers with your best friend. 

Scott would have moved to Clear Lake sooner if he wasn’t absolutely convinced that he couldn’t leave his mom behind. It was the source of much strife and hilarity at the McCall household since Melissa was sure he was just stalling due to how much he was saving living at home and Scott was convinced she’d forget to do the simple things like change the air conditioning filter or pack decent food for her lunch. Scott was as bad with his mom as Stiles was with his dad, minus the whole living together thing. Stiles’s dad all but kicked him out on his eighteenth birthday, but it was done with much love and an understanding that if Stiles caught him with junk food in the house he’d be moving right back in. Besides it was hard to feel like you’d moved out when you lived two blocks away and saw your dad every day.

So even though he was heading out to investigate a couple of murders, most likely werewolf related, Stiles was excited because it meant uninterrupted, for the most part, bro time. He’d even been promised new music and that was always an adventure with Scott. It might be fantastic eargasms of joy or it might be the worst vocal sludge Stiles had ever heard. He never knew. Either way they were off to Beacon Hills together and maybe, just maybe, after this Dean and Sam would bring them in to the big fight, the alpha pack back east.

Dawn was just peaking over the rooftops when Stiles pulled into Scott’s driveway an hour and a half later. He could have been there sooner if he’d not spent too much time debating the merits of both fried pies and donuts. It was a serious sugar decision, though, and ultimately he’d come out with some of both. The lemon fried pie being his current conquest. The tartness of the lemon clashed against the syrupy sweet of his iced coffee but he couldn’t bring himself to have any regrets.

Crumbs and filling were easily licked from his fingers in time to text Scott and let him know he was there and as Stiles waited he had a moment to enjoy the crisp edge of coolness on the air and the warmth of the worn jacket he was thankful he’d grabbed before leaving. Autumn was well under way calendar wise, but the weather was only just starting to catch up.

Scott came bounding down his front steps nearly six full minutes later with duffle bag over his shoulder and a half eaten banana in one hand. He grinned as he swung the bag into the back and Stiles knew he was just as excited to be called out as Stiles was. They might not have any real idea about what they were heading into, but if their combined talents were helpful in any way, then it was going to be a good trip. If nothing else they could provide Sam and Dean’s team with some much needed intel. It felt good to be putting his particular talents, namely his incessant need for digging into any and every suspicious situation and his inability to think in linear terms, to good use. He knew for a fact Scott felt the same way about it.

“Hey man,” Scott greeted, stuffing his banana into his mouth so they could carry out their complicated fist bumping handshake. It was a bit of a superstition between them, but mostly it was about the transition. They had to take a time out from their regular day to day and step into their other lives. The fist bump was a tradition.

“Hey. You ready for this?” Stiles put the jeep in gear and began backing out of the drive.

Scott’s seatbelt clicked into place with a soft snick and he pulled his iPod out of his pocket. “As ready as I ever am,” he answered. They were both quiet as Scott hooked the iPod up and scrolled for whatever playlist he’d compiled. At that hour the streets were still fairly empty and driving past the houses, Stiles couldn’t help but think about all the people just waking up or getting ready inside. They didn’t know about werewolves. They didn’t know about demigods or demons or things that went bump in the night. That was all the stuff of myth or fiction or religion. It might be important in their lives, but in a more abstract way. That’s what it was about for Stiles. Letting people live their lives without having to know what he knew. And if they did have to face it at some point, maybe he could be there to help. Like his dad had always done for others, like Dean had done for him years ago.

Everyone has their reason, Dean had told him. The ones that weren’t raised into it almost always came in for revenge or to try and make sense of something that would never make sense. He’d tried his damnedest to talk Stiles out of it, but in the end it was because Stiles needed to help people, people like him, and maybe, just maybe he could someday forgive himself for not being able to help his mother.

The first song, unfamiliar to Stiles, had a promising beat as it came through the speakers effectively bringing Stiles back to the present. “So, Beacon Hills. You grew up there, right?” Scott wasn’t wasting any time getting to the point. 

“Yeah, haven’t been back in years though.” Stiles wasn’t ready to talk in detail about why that was. Scott knew the gist of it. Stiles was just a kid when they left, which was just after he lost his mom. Which was how Stiles met Sam and Dean. That didn’t mean he was ready for a historical retelling. He had his own reservations about being back in his childhood home, but it wouldn’t do him any good to go rehashing them for Scott just now. He wanted to focus on the case ahead of them and the work that needed to be done. Not on his personal monsters.

Luckily Scott accepted that as an answer and began digging through the convenience store haul. He was probably curious to know more, but Scott was a good friend and had been able to read Stiles since the day they met. So much so that Stiles had once asked him if it was a werewolf thing and Scott had assured him it wasn’t that easy with everyone. He might be able to sense deception in a raised pulse or smell certain emotions coming off people, but each person was complicated and it took time to decode what his senses were trying to tell him. No, that was a strictly Stiles and Scott thing, being read him so quickly and so well. Scott would wait for him to bring it up again rather than press the issue, Stiles was sure.

Once he was settled in, apple fritter in hand, fingers drumming out the beat to the song on the middle console, Scott turned the conversation to current events since they both knew it might be hard to catch up once they got to Beacon Hills. “So, Mom started seeing someone.” He said it almost flatly.

“I take you don’t approve?” Stiles signaled and entered the highway. The rising sun was a brilliant yellow and fuchsia which meant he had to slip on his sunglasses to see.

“It’s not that I care if she dates or not, I just didn’t like the way this guy looked at her. It was skeevy.” Scott said with a grumble.

“You mean like he thought she was hot?” They’d had this conversation before. Despite Scott’s stubborn insistence that he didn’t care about his mom dating, he never approved of anyone she brought home. Luckily for Ms. McCall’s love life she only half listened to her son’s complaints. There was still the rare moment when he actually had a legitimate concern. Stiles wasn’t sure though, if skeevy could be considered legitimate.

“Gross! And anyway, no, not like he found her attractive, like he wanted to, I don’t know, eat her, it was disgusting.” Scott threw his crumpled paper napkin at Stiles who just laughed at him.

“Okay, okay, but you have to try and remember, your mom’s a grown woman, she knows how to handle herself.” He was still chuckling. He’d missed Scott and all his fun little hang ups.

“I know, she doesn’t let me forget, trust me.” Scott was licking his fingers, still grousing under his breath. “You wouldn’t be so quick to judge if it was your dad and some skeevy woman we were talking about.”

“No, but then we both know that’s not a likely problem since he still wears his wedding ring.” Stiles reminded him. He hadn’t meant to say it, but there it was, the dead mom card. He hated how easy it was to slip it into everyday conversation.

“Hey, man-”

“Don’t worry about,” Stiles was quick to shake his head at himself, “I just meant he doesn’t date so yeah, maybe I don’t get what it’s like.” He admitted. He really didn’t know what it was like. Sometimes he wished he did, that his dad could move on and find some way to be happy, even if he never picked anyone to be serious with. On the other hand, they were both kind of in that same spot. His mother had been gone almost thirteen years, but her things still filled the house, like they were both just waiting for her to come home. It wasn’t at all healthy, he knew, but that was how they coped. Or rather, how they didn’t cope. They were dysfunctional together and a sad little part of him thought he needed that still.

“It’s okay, I’m overly critical, I’m aware.” Scott sighed. “I just don’t want to see her get hurt again. I couldn’t stand it if she finally settled on someone and they turned out like…” Scott’s voice trailed off so Stiles finished for him.

“Like your sperm donor.”

“Exactly.”

“I get it.” Stiles told him honestly

“Thanks.” Scott said. “Anything new on your end?”

Other than the call from Dean, which Scott obviously knew about already, there really wasn’t much new on Stiles’ end at all. He was still debating about trying to go back to college, still working part time at the sheriff’s office answering the phones and helping with backlogged paperwork. His dad was still trying to convince him to pursue law enforcement on the up and up and walk away from hunting. And he was still woefully single. At least he and Scott had that in common.They could bemoan their singledom together.

They continued to make small talk, avoiding the heavier topics and speculations for the time being until they were talked out and a companionable silence settled between them. Scott’s indie playlist gave way to Stiles’s radio station surfing habit, and finally ended with them settling on Pandora for the rest of the trip. Come lunch they were almost at the halfway point.

One rule they both agreed to on the job was that calories didn’t count. Iin fact, they had a tendency to overindulge in silent bids to out eat one another. Stiles rarely won, but it was a matter of pride so he still tried. He always called Scott a cheater though, to which Scott would reply with the fact that there was no way he could prove that Scott’s werewolf powers had anything to do with it. Today it was going to be all you can eat enchilada’s at a family owned Mexican restaurant called Fajita Joe’s they found when they stopped for gas. 

An hour, and far too many enchiladas later, they poured themselves back into the jeep for the last leg of their journey. Thank the gods for small mercies like antacids. 

“Tell me again about the first murder,” Scott said about ten minutes into the drive. He had his notepad out where Stiles knew he’d already been making notes. No matter how often Stiles tried to convince him to use his phone or at least a tablet, Scott stubbornly held on to his notepad and pen.

“Peter Hale, thirty one. His body was found on the edge of the wildlife preserve by the sheriff’s department on a routine patrol. I need the autopsy report, but it’s being called an animal attack. Dean said no one was suspicious until the second victim.” Stiles was itching to get his hands on the autopsy reports. The main problem in situations like this was that it was easy enough to say someone died from an animal attack unless you know the differences between what the local wildlife is capable of and the wounds the victim actually had. 

“The second was three days ago, Jackson Whittemore.” Scott was reading from his notes now. “He was our age,” his voice hinted at the question he really wanted to ask.

“I didn’t know him.” Stiles gripped the wheel a little tighter. 

“Okay, I figured you’d have mentioned it if you had.” Scott assured him.

Stiles nodded. It was going to be a tough case as it was, he needed to remember that Scott was on his side and not be so sensitive every time it came up that they were going to be in the town he grew up in. That, of course, was easier said than done.

“We should work backwards. Start with this latest murder, do a couple of interviews, work our way back to Peter Hale, see if we can find a connection.” Scott suggested. He was still scribbling furiously next to Stiles.

“Agreed. We need to talk to his family.” Stiles was itching to get online and do some research, but since the phone call from Dean, he’d barely had any time at all. Most of what they needed to do would have to be done once they were in Beacon Hills. He just hoped the motel they’d picked came with decent WiFi. There was nothing worse than trying to do research in a small town somewhere public like a library or coffee house; too many curious eyes.

“So, FBI?” Scott asked.

“I think so.” It would be the easiest considering that they needed to talk to multiple witnesses. “You brought your suit?” Stiles shot him a sideways look. Granted Scott almost never forgot important details like what to pack, but Stiles still liked to rib him over the one time he’d mixed his dry cleaning bag up with his mother’s and had unveiled a navy blue skirt suit instead of his own black one.

Scott nodded, chewing the end of his pen. Stiles valued his life so he held his tongue when a dog joke jumped immediately to mind. More specifically, a puppy joke. In fact it happened much more often than Scott would ever be aware because Stiles had learned early on he didn’t take kindly to being compared to an adorable brown eyed pup no matter how much Stiles tried to convince him it was practically a compliment. Teasing had it’s limits, after all.

“Good, then we’ll start with the motel, in fact can you call them and make sure they still have openings and ask about the WiFi? We should change before we get there though, don’t you think?” Stiles asked. They’d only done the fake identity thing a few of times before and were still trying to get a good feel for it.

“Yeah, definitely, we can’t check in looking like college rejects then stroll in to town after we change. We’ll stick out like sore thumbs.” Scott laughed, pulling up the number to the motel they were planning for. They were cash customers so reservations were almost always unavailable. Just another bump in the road that neither one of them planned to ask Dean about because they’d look even greener than they already were.

Stiles made a sound of agreement and then went silent, listening as Scott spoke on the phone. Once it was determined the motel had room for them and free WiFi, Stiles felt a little bit more in control again. 

“We’re all set.” Scott confirmed.

“Good, then I’m looking for a place to stop.” They ended up taking turns changing in a gas station restroom that had a sticky lime green fly swatter attached the key and graffiti on the walls with cleverly original anecdotes such as ‘Michael is a ho’ and ‘for a good time call 760-555-2020’. Stiles gave them props for equality calling Michael out and all, but was still mildly disturbed by the one on the mirror that read, ‘Meet me here at 6:00 pm and bring a tub of lube.’ Scott was even more traumatized by it and both were relieved to get back on the road.

“We aren’t stopping there on the way back.” Scott said breathlessly as Stiles pulled out of the parking lot.

“Agreed,” he replied evenly.

The last leg of their journey was filled with a mounting tension as Beacon Hills got closer and closer. The signs along the road counting down the miles were much less help considering what they were going toward, and it wasn’t any comfort that the highway became less and less traveled the closer they got until they stopped seeing other cars entirely. It wasn’t late. Beacon Hills proper was just somewhat remote.

Finally, they past the sign welcoming them to town, stating the population at just under seventeen thousand, and Stiles glanced over at his friend who he could tell was deep in thought, staring out the window and watching the trees as they past. Beacon Hills was set on the edge of a forest preserve so it was heavily wooded along either side of the road. It was nearing six and already Stiles’s road trip supplies and enchilada lunch were long gone. He was glad to stop driving and get something to eat, but there was also a sense of foreboding he couldn’t shake. Scott still wasn’t saying anything, so Stiles didn’t either. He just drove them silently to the motel, parked, and walked in.

“Hello young man, how can I help you?” the woman behind the counter looked friendly enough even if the office smelled like the place where cigarettes went to die. 

“I need a room for two, two singles?” Stiles said this as calmly as possible. It was much too early in the case to be freaked out by the first person in Beacon Hills he’d spoken to. 

“Smoking or non?”

“Non, thanks.” He was pulling out his wallet.

“How many nights?”

“I’m not sure yet. Can we start with a week?”

“Mmhm,” the woman replied curtly. She gave him the once over but reached behind her to grab a key from the peg board. Then she flipped the book around and pointed to the next free line and passed him a pen. “Sign there on the line, it’s fifty five a night, no pets, and the ice machine is just outside, there.” She pointed back out the door and Stiles nodded, quickly signing his fake name, Seth Walker. Just a little joke between him and Scott.

He found Scott standing outside the jeep, leaning and looking out across the road. “Catch,” Stiles didn’t give him any time to think, just tossed the key at him as he hopped into the jeep. “We’re around back.”

Scott, being the werewolf he was, caught the key on it’s little plastic yellow key chain without any trouble and then swung himself into the jeep gracefully. If there was one thing, and let’s be real, there were plenty of things to choose from, but if there was one that Stiles was actually jealous of, it was Scott’s control over his own body. Stiles had none of that. He was capable of tripping over his feet while seated. But he didn’t envy all the trouble that came with it and Scott had never once offered him the bite. They had an understanding on the matter and Stiles was happy with it.

They drove around to the back and found their room number, 218, and Stiles parked. The room decor was almost worse than the office, but at least it didn’t stink. Too much. Scott laughed outright at the yellow foil shell wallpaper in the bathroom and the olive green carpet. It was all a little too much like some bad slasher flick, circa 1974 for Stiles’s taste. Thank god the towels looked clean. The sheets smelled like they’d been bleached within an inch of their life too which meant they might make him break out, but at least not with the plague or flesh eating bacteria. Scott never cared one way or the other, as long as it didn’t smell, because he didn’t have to care. He was immune to almost everything.

“I’m starved,” Scott told him, flopping down to check the bounciness of his bed.

“Same, let’s eat. We passed that diner on the way in, Myrtle’s. It must be good because it’s been around since forever.” Stiles said.

“I’m in. I’m having the biggest burger they make. Maybe two. Maybe three.” Scott groaned as if in actual pain from being hungry.

“If I’m remembering it correctly, one will probably actually take care of you.” Stiles laughed as they left, locking the door behind them.

Driving back through town, without the distraction of looking for the motel, Stiles was better able to look around. There were a lot of obvious changes, new buildings, lights that lit the side streets, not just the main thoroughfare. The rest of it was more intangible. He couldn’t call up a distinct image in his mind of exactly what the street had looked like the last time he’d seen it. The whole thing was a little unnerving, but he was a little on the road weary side, and his stomach was beginning to growl, so he decided not to try so hard to remember everything. Instead concentrating on where they needed to park and whether or not he was going to have fries or onion rings. It might not have been the most effective self preservation tactic, but it was suffice in the short term.


	2. But We don't Know Where We've Been

Myrtle’s was pretty busy, but then again it was a small town at dinner time. There probably weren’t a lot of options. Stiles was saving his judgements about their cuisine until after dinner. The waitress was friendly enough, Emmie her tagged read, and they found themselves seated at a booth by the window looking out onto the main street.

“Smells good,” Scott said, flipping open the laminated menu.

Stiles chuckled; Scott and his nose, as always. “To me too.”

It was standard diner fare, soups, salads, sandwiches. The obligatory burgers, and the weekly specials. Tonight was turkey and dressing, but Stiles had been thinking burger ever since Scott had gone on about them. That was something he thought he remembered; burgers on Friday night with his folks.

Emmie came back with two waters in clear plastic tumblers and pulled a pencil from her ponytail to take their drink orders. She couldn’t have been much younger than them, but clearly she already only had eyes for Scott. Big brown moon eyes. Stiles almost sighed. Scott was hot, objectively, and everyone tended to notice. Stiles was more gangly and had to rely on his personality more often than not. In the long run it meant he’d not been out on many dates, and most of them had ended with an offhanded, I’ll call you, which was the easy let down. He got the same reaction from guys and girls and always had. It was something he was used to though and he wouldn't totally begrudge his friend some flirtatious fun. Especially if he could use it to get a little info.

“Coke,” he told Emmie and she scrunched her face adorably at Scott. “Is Pepsi okay?” She asked Stiles.

“Do you have Dr. Pepper?” He was having none of the Pepsi. None.

She nodded and he told her he’d have that, Scott was okay with Pepsi which of course made her grin happily. As soon as their waitress walked away Stiles frowned. “Why do they always ask if Pepsi is okay. It’s not okay. Nothing can make it okay. If it was okay I would have asked for it.”

Scott laughed. “You’re a Coke snob. She was being nice.”

“She could have said no and asked if I would like anything else.” Stiles flicked an imaginary fleck from his shirt jacket sleeve. “Besides, I don’t think she wants to be nice to me.” He raised an eyebrow at Scott before glancing back down at the menu.

“I don’t know what you mean.” Scott told him primly.

“Sure you don’t.”

Stiles had all but decided on the mushroom swiss burger with a side of homestyle fries when the bell tinkled over the door and he happened to look up and see a familiar face. Scott sensed the change in him immediately, probably the uptick in his heart, and asked, ”What is it,” under his breath.

He flicked his eyes from Scott to the door where an older woman in a sheriff’s uniform was being greeted by the people seated at the counter where she was being passed a take away sack and a disposable cup of coffee.

“That’s the sheriff. Or, well she was a deputy the last time I saw her, she worked with my dad.” Sheriff Huffman took her sack, handed over her money, which was refused, and then she was heading back out the door without having noticed them sitting there.

“Do you think she’ll recognize you?” Scott asked,worried.

“Probably not. I wasn’t quite ten the last time she saw me. Still we ought to steer clear as long as possible.” Stiles was still looking out the window, watching as the sheriff pulled away in her cruiser.

“I can live with that. This is going to be more complicated than we thought, isn’t it?” Scott asked gently.

“Yeah, it is.” Stiles agreed.

Emmie was back soon enough with more smiles for Scott and their drinks. Scott ordered the double bacon jalepeno cheddar burger and he got the mushroom swiss. Then Emmie told them, well she told Scott, to be sure and leave room for dessert because they’d just pulled out some fresh caramel pecan pies and he had to try it. Stiles assured her Scott never had a problem making room for pie, but she barely noticed him, just flounced away, grinning cheekily over her shoulder.

“Are you sure you don’t put off pheromones?” Stiles asked around his straw.

“I’m naturally charming.” Scott informed him.

“Sure you are.” Stiles huffed, but it was all just play. He didn’t have time to flirt with pretty waitresses anyway. Besides Scott was better at it any day. “Be sure and ask her about the you know what.” He reminded Scott.

Scott just nodded at him and flashed Emmie a ridiculous grin where she stood at the counter.

Their burgers were out pretty fast and Scott made sure he gushed over just how quick it had come and how great his food looked. Emmie blushed prettily and lingered a little asking Scott if they were just passing through or staying a while. He assured her they’d be staying on, for business, this part was under his breath like a secret between the two of them, and then Emmie was off to her other tables.

They ate quietly for a few minutes, both of them tucking into their food without hesitation; hungry from their trip. Stiles’s burger was just the right balance of juicy and done which had him moaning contentedly as Scott rolled his eyes at him.

“You’re no better,” he told Scott, mopping the juice from his chin. You’re over there making out with your dinner. Scott kicked him under the table, because he’s an ass.

Emmie kept their drinks filled, and Stiles watched the people coming and going through the little diner, trying to get a feel for being back here. It was familiar, but less like a memory and more like a dream. The thick wood slats of the blinds over the huge front windows, the supple quality of the worn brown vinyl seats surrounding mottled gold formica tables, The food was fantastic and the smell was definitely something he remembered, but the rest was fuzzy around the edges. He supposed that was something grief had done to him, but he didn’t really want to think about it, and his burger was fairly perfect, so he focused on that instead, finishing a few minutes ahead of Scott.

When Emmie came back to clear their empty plates and ask about dessert, they both ordered the pie she’d suggested and Scott kept her chatting at their table for a few minutes when she brought it out to them. At first it was little things like did she grow up in Beacon Hills, what’s her favorite thing to eat at Myrtle's, should they come back for breakfast; easy things. Emmie asked how long they were going to be around and it was the perfect segue.

“Could be a while,” Scott told her, dropping his voice as though sharing a secret with only her. He pulled out his wallet and flashed the FBI badge at her and her eyebrows both shot right up. Stiles for his part suddenly found his pie very interesting.

“You’re here about the--” Emmie leaned in closer and mouthed ‘murders’ at Scott who nodded and tapped his nose like it was a game of charades. Emmie glanced around but the other servers were still bustling around and no one was paying them any mind.

“You don’t happen to have any inside info you’d be willing to share with us? Off the record?” Stiles did glance up then as he shoved a big piece of the pie and ice cream in his mouth to keep from making an affronted sound. If this is was really Scott flirting then man did he ever hit the jackpot with his looks because no one should fall for that level of bs.

“My-- I have a friend, he works on the road crew, said they saw a guy at the second scene poking around before the sheriff got there. Big guy, looked like a biker or something. Gone like a flash as soon as the cruisers pulled in. But when they tried to report it, no one wanted to hear it. They were trying to say it’s animal attacks.”

“But you don’t believe that.” Scott wasn’t asking a question that time.

Emmie shook her head and smiled sweetly. She might have succumbed to Scott’s pretty face, but she was still a smart young woman. “My family hunts so…” She shrugged. Scott nodded at her before shooting Stiles a sideways look. So, the Beacon Hills sheriff department could try and keep it under wraps however they wanted, but the people already believed there was something more sinister going on, which was good. It might help keep some of them safe.

“What about strangers, new people in town?” Scott asked.

“Other than you guys? Nobody.” Emmie was being honest. Stiles couldn’t hear her heartbeat the way Scott could, but he’d always been good at picking up on things like that. Even if he weren’t he could tell from the questions Scott asked.

“Miss?” A lady a couple of tables down from them needed a refill and Emmie had to rush back to her job, but it was a start anyway. Mysterious biker dude was definitely worth looking into, as was the reason why he’d been left off the official report. Scott was already taking notes again before Emmie was able to come back around.

“I knew the most recent victim. Sort of. He and his girlfriend used to come in here every Friday night in high school and she would boss him around and make him eat right. Then they’d split a dessert. He wasn’t always the friendliest guy, but he was a good tipper and that says a lot to me about a person’s character. He didn’t deserve what he got.” Emmie gave them their receipt and Scott thanked her, promising they’d do their best and making her promise to use the buddy system any time she went out day or night.

Once they were paid up and Emmie well tipped, they left Myrtle’s, neither of them much in the mood for talking on the short drive back to the motel. Stiles took the time to let his eyes sweep across the town, the library, the firehouse. The old Piggly Wiggly that was still going strong. His memories came in bright bursting flashes; gone too quickly to hold on to. One after the other until the images bled together. It was giving him a headache. Beacon Hills had some good memories, he knew, but here, tonight, all he could remember was how they’d been stolen from him, replaced by anger and sadness and darkness.

“You okay?” Scott asked him, shutting the door behind them. Stiles didn’t have an answer for him just then. He thought he’d been doing so good at dinner, but something had been nagging him since they left and it was all wrapped up in the reality that they were staying in the town he grew up in and there wasn’t a clear way out yet. There wasn’t a timeline. He couldn’t just reason with himself and say he only had to make it through tomorrow.

“I’m gonna take a shower,” he said, grabbing his toiletries before disappearing behind the closed bathroom door.

It only took an accidental glance in the mirror to make him realize he was on the verge of a panic attack. Stiles struggled with anxiety, but he hadn’t had a full blown attack in years. He sat right down on the edge of the toilet seat, his head in his hands as he tried to breathe. One time, Stiles had tried to explain what a panic attack felt like to him. It was a little different to each person, but his dad was trying to understand him so he told him it felt like stage fright in the pit of his stomach, a heart attack in his chest, and chaos in his head. The overwhelming feeling being a complete loss of control, whether just over his emotions, or over his body, over his life, his future. It was crippling, and soul crushing, and there was no easy fix for it once it was under way.

Now, curling around himself and trying to pace his breathing as best he could, Stiles realized the panic had been building since he got the call from Dean. He’d felt it in his gut then, but hadn’t expected it to go this far after all this time.

Scott rapped softly on the door, giving Stiles something external to focus on. “Stiles?”

“Yeah man, just--” He took a couple of deep gulps of air. “I’ve got it, I’m okay.” Scott ddidn’t say anything else, but Stiles was sure he hadn’t moved very far from the door. At least not until he thought Stiles was really okay.

Eventually Stiles managed to slow his racing heart back down, to take long even breaths, to begin to think about something other than the agonizing sense of doom and climb into the shower. Everything started out mechanical. Shampoo hair, rinse. Soap down body, rinse. The warm water was a balm to his senses, though, and by the time he was clean, he was thinking much more clearly.

It was the strange man Emmie’s friend had witnessed at the scene. The one the deputies didn’t seem concerned about. It had a very distinct flavor of wrong to it, and not because he’d been described as a leather jacket wearing biker dude type. Stiles was going to look into it, first thing. If there really were werewolves here killing people and the local law was helping cover it up for them, he was damn sure going to find out.

Scott was flipping through the satellite channels when he came back out, looking for all the world like someone who had not spent the last twenty minutes listening in to his best friend’s heartbeat to be sure he was okay.

“I’m not okay.” Stiles admitted as he began digging through his suitcase for a t-shirt and pajama bottoms. “But you already know that.”

“I’m not going to force you to talk about this if you don’t want to.” Scott didn’t move or look over, he just kept changing the channel, fully intending to give Stiles space if that’s what he wanted.

Stiles got dressed quietly then grabbed his laptop and slid onto his bed. “Unfortunately, I think if I don’t talk about it, at least a little, it’s going to get in the way of this investigation.”

The television went silent with a quick click. Scott climbed up into his own bed and lay sprawled over the top of the covers, looking up at the ceiling. “Then you should talk.” he said quietly.

It took time to order his thoughts enough to say anything, but Scott was patient, staying still and silent while Stiles tried to find the right way to begin. Behind the heavy green curtains, the sun was already down and their room was lit by the bedside lamps they both still had on. They gave off an almost orange glow that might seem sinister, but was more comfortable when your best friend was a werewolf. The walls of the room were thin enough that he could pick up strains of music and conversation coming from next door and he wondered for the thousandth time how Scott dealt with that on a regular basis when he was capable of hearing everything, not just bits and pieces. At some point, Stiles crawled under the scratchy quilt, thankful that the sheets felt smooth and not to itchy against his skin. He was tired; drained really, and starting to think it might be easier to start his researching in earnest after a few hours of sleep; after talking to Scott for a little while.

“You know I lost my mom when I was little, and you know it was Dean that helped me and my dad, but we haven’t really talked about when that was, what happened. And I don’t think I want to talk about that right now. I’m not sure I’ll ever be ready for that, but being here now, on a case--” Stiles clamped his mouth shut, warring with his self over what he knew he needed to say and having to hear the admission out loud. He stared hard at the ceiling, at the flecks of gold in the mess of acoustic popcorn that was dirty around the the light. It felt surreal to him, like he wasn’t really there.

“I’m in charge now. I can’t be that helpless kid here. I have to pretend to be Dean.” Stiles’ voice was close to a whisper.

“You don’t have to pretend.” Scott’s answer was as comforting as it was predictable. “I’ve seen you. You’ve helped plenty of people just being you.”

“But I don’t feel like that guy either.” Stiles covered his eyes with his hand. He knew he could be himself logically, but that didn’t change the churning doubt inside him.

“It’s going to be hard, I get that, but if there’s one thing I know about you it’s that you’re great under pressure. Right now you’re feeling the pressure, and I can’t say I know what that feels like, but I can say I know we came here to do a job and that all we can do is our best. That’s all anyone can do. And if you feel like the past is catching up to you, we’ll take a time out. Alright?”

Stiles rolled his head to the side to look at his friend. “Alright.” he answered.

They didn’t get any research done that first night. They didn’t even turn the television back on. They both clicked out their lamps and lay in the darkness letting the weariness from their trip and the stresses of the situation, lull them to sleep. Stiles couldn’t be sure later when he woke up in the middle of the night, his heart racing, but he could have sworn what woke him was an owl. It sounded close, just out the window by his bed. The chilling sound of it’s screech was still ringing in his ear, but as he sat staring into the darkness all he heard was silence and the distant hum of the ice machine outside. So he lay back down and let sleep claim him once more.


	3. And We Know What Were Knowin'

Scott’s alarm woke them and Stiles rolled under his pillow, groaning his frustration at the sounds of electronic chirping birds and what was probably supposed to be a fountain but sounded more like the loudest hot tub ever.

“Good morning to you too,” Scott said cheerily. He was a morning person. This was something they’d agreed to disagree on; permanently.

“Why birds, Scott, why?” Stiles asked, chunking his pillow in Scott’s general direction.

The bastard just laughed. If he really were a puppy he’d probably have a bushy tail and everything. Bright eyes too. The door to the bathroom closed with a thunk and Stiles just lay there blinking up at the tacky ceiling, trying to feel like something even remotely alive. Laying there, listening to Scott hum around his toothbrush, his own mouth still sour from sleep, Stiles remembered what he’d dreamed the night before.

An owl was hooting outside the window and when he’d tried to roll out of bed to scare it off, he’d had trouble moving. It took a lot of effort, but he managed to roll sideways out of the bed and onto the floor. As he struggled to get his body under control, enough to at least sit up, he realized that instead he was back in bed, back under the covers. The owl sounded closer, and Stiles was sure if he looked out the window it would be right there, just on the other side of the glass. It scared him, badly. In fact it terrified him. He had to get rid of that owl. So he tried again, this time he was able to sit up and to stand, but stumbled and fell halfway to the window only to rise and find himself tangled in his sheets all over again. The same pattern continued to repeat itself while the the owl grew louder and more insistent and Stiles felt more and more frightened. He glanced toward the window and shivered, hard.

“Stiles?” Scott shook his shoulder.

“What-- Oh man, I was zoning or something.” Stiles sat up quickly, shoving his shaking hands under his thighs as if he could hide his fear from Scott.

“Or something,” Scott agreed, eying him up and down. “You going to be okay now?”

“Yeah, just… had a nightmare last night. I only just remembered it, is all.” Stiles threw back the covers and climbed quickly out of the bed, anxious now to get dressed and put as much space between him and the dream as possible.

“Okay.” Scott said slowly it like he was still uncertain, but Stiles waved him off.

“Go, go take your shower, I’m gonna get dressed and hit the vending machine. I need a caffeine fix.”

Scott sighed, clearly worried, but he left Stiles anyway. As soon as the shower started up, Stiles pulled on his jeans and was out the door, out into the early morning where the sun was shining and there were cars on the street and no creeping owls waiting on him.

Caffeine did help. The first coke of the morning was tart and just shy of being too sweet, but he was much more awake and in control of himself by the time Scott came out in a cloud of hazy steam smelling like clean soap and dressed in his boxers and dress shirt. His suit was hanging in the closet still and would stay there until he’d eaten because the one thing Scott had always been meticulous about was his clothes. Stiles rarely had the patience for that level of tidiness but it seemed to work for Scott just fine.

Stiles sat himself up at the little round wooden table that was supposed to pass for a dining table for them, and he had his laptop open to his spreadsheet where he’d keep the details of their case. A map of Beacon County was tacked to the wall of the closet with red tacks marking the places where the two victims had been found. The first order of the day was supposed to be looking in to the sheriff’s department, that’s what was weighing heaviest on him right now, but looking at what little info they had reminded him he and Scott had a plan and that was to begin with the latest victim, Jackson Whittemore.

Scott pulled a banana out of his suitcase and sat opposite Stiles, his notebook propped open in front of him. “Jackson Whittemore.” He said into the quiet.

Stiles looked up, squinting at Scott and wondering if the ability to read minds was a power he had that he’d conveniently forgotten to share. “I was just thinking about that.”

“Yeah? Good, because I think we need to get an early start. Maybe swing by the crime scene while everyone else is busy going to work and then by this afternoon we should try his home.”

“He lived at home still, with his parents. College student.” Stiles was already double checking the address.

“Right, summer break,” Scott jotted something down. “You’re not worried his parents will recognize you?” He took a huge bite of his banana as he nodded. That was just another thing they never talked about, the fact that both of them had been forced to leave school for different reasons. Scott because of his untimely bite and Stiles because of his dad’s heart attack. Sure, they could probably make time to go back or take online classes or something, but both of them knew this was what they wanted to do with their lives. Unfortunately the pay was nil, but it was a life sentence all the same. That was why Dean had put Stiles off for so long, he’d known Stiles would be in for life, from his very first case. He’d been right.

“No one’s going to recognize me. Last time anyone saw me I was short, scrawny, and wore my hair completely buzzed off.” Stiles assured him. What Stiles didn’t want to admit was that he’d been wasting away much like his mother had. Though his was caused from lack of sleep and food and not from something supernatural.

Now he stood six full feet, taller than Scott, and he’d filled out, grown into his lanky arms and legs. He was still more on the slight side than the bulky side, but with glasses and a full head of hair it would take someone very close to his family to recognize him and there wasn’t anyone like that left in Beacon Hills. He hoped.

The crime scene was about ten miles from the motel, off the main road that came through the middle of town. Stiles couldn’t help but notice as they drove that they were leaving the center of town and driving back out toward a less populated area. Toward the forest preserve. The business gave way to houses which gave way quickly to trees. And before long there was nothing else to see but the branches that swept out over above the road and the endless blur of tree trunks beside them.

His body was found by the road crew on an access road that was under repair. The interesting thing about the location was that it was less than a mile from the first crime scene. Both were on the edge of the preserve, but neither were hidden away in the trees. These were bodies that were meant to be found. Scott had said as much before they even pulled up. Even so, they weren’t meant to be found by just anyone because there wasn’t too much traffic out this way. It was a clue, but Stiles wasn’t sure yet how it fit into the whole scheme.

Stiles pulled the jeep off onto the access road and then parked it. The police tape was still tied to one tree so they crossed over and began looking through the leaves,carefully, searching for anything that might have been missed, or anything that might have been misconstrued by an untrained eye.

They split up, and Stiles found himself drawn toward a tree to the right. Four long gashes split the bark open in a diagonal slash. He traced it with his fingers, definitely large enough to be a werewolf. There was blood too. Splattered across the ground a though someone or something was injured but kept moving. He followed the droplets until they disappeared just inside the forest, then retraced his steps. That blood wasn’t from the victim. Whittemore was injured, fatally, and bled out from the neck closer to the road. Back where Scott was squatting in the pine needles and carefully moving something on the ground.

Stiles went back to the tree to snap a picture of the claw marks and of the blood splatters he’d found, then he joined Scott who was just standing up, his nose in the air, eyes closed, brows furrowed. He gave Stiles a grim look and shook his head slightly.

“We need to see the body.” Stiles guessed.

“Yeah we do.” Scott said, his face tipped up, scenting the air around them.

“Werewolf?” Stiles asked. Scott nodded, but his head tilted to the side, his eyes closing.

“But it’s not right. It’s--” Scott followed his nose right to the pattern of blood Stiles had found. “I can’t tell but it feels…. wrong to me. It smells wrong. Dirty somehow.”

“Like it needs a shower?” Stiles was halfway to a laugh, but the look on Scott’s face stopped him.

“No, like… death. But not the type you smell on a dead body. I can’t explain it. It’s awful.” Scott’s face crumpled in disgust.

“We definitely need to see the body.” Scott reiterated.

Getting into a morgue was something neither of them had ever been incredibly smooth about. They often had to fall back on Stiles’ ability to bullshit his way in and out of every type of situation and Scott’s ability to be charming while at the same time incredibly distracting. Unfortunately this time wasn’t going to be any different. The body was still at the hospital, which told Stiles they still had some questions, since it hadn’t been released yet to the family for burial even after three days.

Stiles really didn’t want to go to the hospital. Hospitals smelled too much like antiseptic and old people. That’s what he told people anyone, and it was true enough. The real truth was he’d watched his mother fade away to nothing in this very hospital and since then he’d avoided them at all costs. Even when he’d broken his arm he’d made his dad take him to one of those emergency doc in a box places. When his dad had his heart attack and Stiles came home from college, that was the first time he’d set foot in any hospital and it’d been the second hardest thing he’d done in his life.

Now they were going back to the very place that stole his childhood and he didn’t know how he was supposed to feel about it. Or how he was going to get through it without breaking cover.

The nurses were helpful, Stiles let Scott do most of the talking. He was mainly focused on keeping his cool as his eyes swept over the cool spring green linoleum that squeaked under his shoes and the generic landscape paintings on the blue walls. The smell was a catalyst though, just as he’d feared. It was stale and sterile and burned at his nostrils. The low hum of chatter mixed with the beep and buzz of various machines and all of it made Stiles itch to move, to leave. It wasn’t very small, but it felt tiny; constricting.

“Come on,” Scott nudged at him, and Stiles forced his feet to move him deeper into the hospital toward the bank of elevators to their left. “We’re going to the basement. Are you going to be okay?” Scott hit the button, giving him a serious look.

“I’m fine,” Stiles said, but Scott’s look turned slightly incredulous.

“Okay, I’m not fine. But if you keep asking me if I’m okay every five minutes, then we’ll never get anything done.” Stiles hated that he sounded like a whiny brat, but he felt like he was already crawling out of his skin and they’d only been there for a few minutes.

The doors slid open and several people came out, their eyes flashing on Scott and Stiles, curious, as they passed. Once they were inside and the doors slid shut, Scott turned to him, both eyebrows raising. “I’m sure I wasn’t asking every five minutes, but I’ll stop asking if you’ll start using your words.” He pressed the basement button and the elevator jerked as it began to descend. Stiles was just doing his best trying not to compare it to descending to the depths of hell. That was a completely unhelpful image.

“I don’t know what you want me to say. I don’t want to be here, but I have to be, so that’s all there is to it.” Stiles stepped close to the doors, rocking on the balls of his feet, anxious to be out of the confined space.

“Sure it is.” Scott told him skeptically. The elevator pinged it’s arrival and the doors slid open to a long empty hall.

It felt colder here and way too quiet. Though quiet was good because that meant less people around to question their presence. Scott waved him to the right and they walked the hall in silence, following the signs leading them past several closed doors and to the morgue. Their footsteps echoed around them, Scott’s more of a sharp clicking while Stiles’s rubber soled shoes were more of an annoying squeak. When they rounded the last corner and the door to the morgue was just ahead, Stiles’s stomach churned nervously. This felt too surreal. Too much like stepping out of time. Nothing had changed since Stiles had last seen the place. It was the exact way he remembered it. Unfortunately, out of every place they’d seen so far, this was the place that lived in technicolor in his head. Not the cute outdated diner, not the quaint main street, this.

Scott pushed through the door and the morgue technician looked up at them from where he sat working on paperwork. “Can I help you?” He asked, setting his file aside. He must have been barely older than them. He hardly looked like he could be out of high school, let alone college. His pale hair curled over his collar in a way that spoke more about skipping haircuts than letting it grow long on purpose. His big green eyes were narrowed at them both though, so Stiles tried to stop cataloging his looks and start acting like the seasoned FBI agent he was supposed to be portraying.

They pulled out their identification, flashing it in sync at the man. He stood with a heavy sigh. “I wasn’t told to expect anyone.” He said, standing. He was tall. taller than Stiles. Probably close to six four. “I haven’t completed my report.” He was walking toward the wall of drawers at the back of the room.

“Is there a reason for that?” Scott asked. They both followed him back, but Stiles was still fighting the urge to bolt. He had to concentrate on what was happening right now, but it was hard when all he could see was the last time he’d been in the morgue, when he’d snuck in to sit with his mother so she wouldn’t have to spend the night alone. Not even the cute tech could make him forget about that.

“No, only just the fact that I’m overworked and understaffed.” The man gave them both a dirty look before pulling out the drawer. “People die every day and all of them deserve the same attention, no matter how they went.

“I didn’t mean any disrespect,” Scott tried to assure him, but the man just ignored him as he unzipped the body bag revealing their victim in slow inches.

“I did finish the autopsy. It’s just not written up. This was clearly an animal attack.” His voice was starting to grate on Stiles, but it wasn’t because it was inherently irritating, it was because he needed to be about twenty miles out of town so he could breathe again. Instead he forced himself to see Jackson Whittemore. He’d been their age and now he was gone. He deserved Stiles’ attention even if it meant spending time with the Tech the Grouch in the last place Stiles ever wanted to be again.

“What kind of animal?” Stiles asked.

“I don’t know, whatever we have around here. Mountain lion probably.” The man didn’t know; not exactly a surprise.

“We’re going to need to examine the body.” Scott on the other hand definitely surprised him with that.

“Fine, I needed a break anyway.” He was halfway across the room before Stiles could speak up.

“And a copy of your initial findings,” Stiles added. The man was already picking up his jacket from the back of his chair.

“Have at it. I don’t know why the FBI’s so interested in a couple of animal killings anyway. The initial findings are just some notes I took, you’ll have to wait on everything else to be transcribed later.” He flipped through the files scattered across his desk until he pulled out the one he was looking for. Out came a slip of paper which he left on top. The guy didn’t even say goodbye, just went for the door and didn’t look back.

As soon as he was gone, Stiles took off his jacket and laid it over the side of the desk. Then he picked up the paper and let his eyes skim over it. He could feel Scott’s eyes on him from across the room. “I’ve got my big boy shorts on, okay? You don’t need to ask. This is me talking.”

“Did I say anything?” Scott asked. He leaned over the body, looking at the wounds in the neck.

“You don’t have to say anything, I can hear you thinking all the way over here.” Stiles joined him again, grimacing at the shredded flesh where it was torn open all the way through from under his left ear to just above his right collarbone. It wasn’t a mountain lion. That much was clear to him. Scott had pulled out a pen and was edging the bag further off the victim’s shoulder where there were more gouges. His chest was trisected by the ugly stitched Y where he’d been opened for the autopsy and then sewn back up. The funeral home would have their work cut out for them trying to put his neck back together, but then maybe at this point they’d give him the dignity of a closed casket.

“You’ve been on edge since we walked through the door, it’s not like I can just ignore it, Stiles.” Scott told him, his eyes flicking up expectantly. “But I’m not trying to force you to tell me anything. I’m worried. That’s allowed.”

Stiles deflated. He knew he was bristling at Scott for no reason.

“Look, let’s just get through this okay? You don’t have to explain anything right now.”

“Okay,” Stiles agreed, nodding.

“Good. Now, the first thing you need to know about Mr. Whittemore here is that he’s not human.” Scott pursed his lips and then reached to pull the bag back far enough to reveal one of the victim’s hands. It looked normal to Stiles; crusted with dirt and blood, but human all the same.

“What is he?” Stiles was looking as close as he could, but he still couldn’t see whatever it was Scott was seeing.

Scott laughed under his breath. “Stop, you can’t see it.” Stiles realized he’d leaned way over in his attempt to find whatever it was that was cluing Scott in. Which meant he was now getting up close and personal with the body. The mangled torn up body. He stood straight up with a huff.

“Sorry. It’s the way he smells. I was just trying to find more evidence. He’s a werewolf. He has to be.” Scott pulled out his faithful notepad and Stiles began looking again, at the wounds, at Jackson’s face. He looked entirely human, even if his wounds were suspicious.

“A werewolf,” Stiles breathed. That was huge. “You’re sure?”

“I am, yes. I smelled him back at the preserve, but it was tainted with something else. Something that I can only faintly smell here. It’s not him though, it’s just something lingering on him.”

“Do you think a werewolf killed him?” Stiles asked.

“Maybe. I don’t know. If a were had killed him, I should be able to smell that. It doesn’t smell right. I still can’t explain it. It sort of burns my throat, makes the front of my head hurt. Like seasonal allergies used to before the bite.” Scott was taking notes now, his pencil scritching away at the paper.

“Huh.” Stiles frowned at the body, wondering what it was that was interfering with Scott’s senses. He’d hoped they’d have more direction at this point, not more questions. Stiles began carefully zipping the black bag back up over Jackson’s body.

“Yeah. I think that just about sums it up. Anything interesting on the report?” They slid the drawer closed again. The metallic clang echoed in the wide room.

Stiles let his eyes fall over the report again. It wasn’t anything they hadn’t already heard. Nothing helpful as far as he could tell. “Not really. He lists the injuries, but he’s sure it’s an animal, just like he said. Actually now that I think of it,I think he was maybe a little too convinced.” It hit him all at once and his mouth dropped open. “We never said there was a connection or that we were looking into both deaths, but he did. He said he didn’t know why the FBI would be interested in animal killings. Plural. And that’s a weird way to say it, isn’t it? Animal killings? Not animal attacks?” Scott tucked his pad and pencil away, his face pensive.

“He was weird, definitely shady. Why’d he leave so fast?”

“I don’t know, did you detect anything, with your built in polygraph?” Stiles asked. He’d made the command decision to take advantage of the situation and began rifling through the desk, looking for anything that might help them figure out what the morgue tech was up to. Sure enough, the tech’s mind had already been on the other death too, because there was the autopsy report for Peter Hale. Stiles picked it up, eyes scanning the pages for similarities.

“Nothing. Not a blip. But he knew who we were here to see, too. It’s weird. Find anything there?” Scott was doing the thing where he looked over Stiles’s shoulder. It didn’t bug him the way it had in the beginning of this partnership. There wasn’t much personal space when it came to Scott. Only that which was explicitly asked for.

Stiles shook his head. Much like the other report, Peter Hale’s was bland. Measurements, detailed descriptions of the injuries he’d suffered, but the final conclusion was the same. Animal.  
“Not even enough to make them worth keeping I don’t think.”

“Alright, let’s get out of here before Mr. Too Helpful comes back.”

“Yes. Please.” Stiles tucked the autopsy back where he’d found and left the notes on Jackson Whittemore on top of the stack. He grabbed his jacket, not bothering to slip it back on until they were out of the room and he could almost breath normally again.

“I don’t know about you, but I’m starved, and I need more than a minute to wrap my head around what we know so far. Let’s go find some lunch.” Scott, for once, seemed just as anxious to get away as Stiles was. He nodded and the two of them beat a hasty path back to the elevator. It wasn’t until they were back out in the sunshine that it really hit Stiles. He stopped right in middle of the parking lot, heart ratcheting up several notches.

“Oh my god, we’re so dumb!” He through his hands up and swung around to face Scott.

“What?”

“He didn’t have a lab coat. Or a name badge!”

“Oh god, we’re idiots.” Scott rubbed at the side of his neck before glancing around the parking lot. There wasn’t really anyone around at all.

“He didn’t tell us his name either!” Stiles felt like he was starting to hyperventilate. “We’re the worst hunters in history!”

“Come on, we can’t talk about this out in the open. It’s not safe.” Scott took him by the arm and urged him on toward the jeep.

Scott got him into the passenger side then pushed his head right down between his knees. “You gotta breathe man, come on!” His voice was urgent, but soothing all the same and he rubbed circles on Stiles’s back while he worked to fight off the panic. As soon as he had it together he nodded and sat up and Scott went around to jump in behind the wheel.

“We need to get out of here.” Scott said.

“Okay, okay, just, food, okay? Then we can regroup at the motel.” Stiles fastened his seat belt, eyes still scanning the parking lot,looking for the fake technician and seeing no one but some hospital staff and patients or visitors walking toward the main door. Scott agreed and pulled out, burning rubber as they left Beacon Hills Memorial behind.

Lunch was a drive through affair from the first place they came across on their way back toward the motel. Neither of them said much of anything other than the occasional swear word or incredulous noise. They ordered a ten pack of bean burritos and a ten pack of tacos and two giant sized sodas which they then spread out over their little dining table back in their room.

“I just want to know how he fooled you.” Stiles said around a mouthful of crunchy beef taco.

Scott was already half way through his first burrito and nodding emphatically. “No idea. I didn’t smell or hear anything, not the slightest indication of a lie.” Scott sucked on his soda then whipped out his notebook. “He needs to go on the wall.”

“So do the deputies. The ones that didn’t put that biker guy in their report.” Stiles took the page Scott tore out of his notebook and carried it with him to the wall as he hurried to cram the rest of his taco into his mouth. He tacked the description of creepy weirdo fake morgue tech guy right next to the map then drew a big black question mark on it with the sharpie marker Scott had hung up there that morning. Then he put a black tack in the map on the hospital. Black for weird and creepy and totally fooled us both because we suck. He was shaking his head at himself and the map in disgust.

“Here.” Scott was at his elbow, holding out two slips of paper, one that read, deputies don’t report suspicious witness at the crime scene, and the other said, witness at crime scene, dresses like a biker. The deputies got yellow tacks for being maybe bad, and the biker guy got a black one.

It wasn’t much to go on at all, but the more Stiles stared at it the more he was sure they were seeing a much bigger story than they’d originally expected. After that they returned to eating and every now and then one of them would add something to the growing number of little observations and facts they’d collected so far. It was more than Stiles thought they had to go on which was good. When they were both glutted on Taco Bell and out of new things to add to the evidence wall, they agreed it was time to look up Jackson’s family and pay them a visit.


	4. But We Can't Say What We've Seen

It turned out the Whittemore's were listed and it was easy enough to find their house tucked into the only truly wealthy neighborhood in Beacon Hills. Their house was at the end of a cul de sac with bright white siding and neat black shutters at all the windows. Picturesque was a word that came to mind and as they parked on the street it hit Stiles fresh that these people just lost their kid. Even though he’d been a werewolf and possibly evil, that didn’t change the fact that the people they were about to talk to had just lost someone. Stiles knew what that was like only too well. That was one of the hard parts of the job. Luckily, Scott was pretty good with people. Stiles tended to be too blunt, too detail oriented. He had to separate the emotion from the case in order to do his work. 

They walked up the sidewalk and when they reached the porch, traded a heavy look, both mentally preparing themselves for what they needed to do. Scott knocked firmly on the door. After a couple of tense moments where they waited, listening to the footsteps inside, a woman opened the door. Her hair was a mess of hastily tucked away tendrils, her blue eyes bright and red rimmed from crying. Stiles felt his throat seize up the moment she spoke.

“Yes?” She asked. She sounded too tired to care why they were there, or really that they were there at all.

“Mrs. Whittemore?” He asked gently. 

She nodded, her eyes narrowing as though finally seeing the two strangers on her porch.

“Hello ma’am,” he began, pulling out his badge. Stiles followed suit,doing his best impersonation of someone who was completely in control and capable. “I’m Agent Nicolson and this is my partner, Agent Walker.” Here Stiles incline his head. “We’d like to ask you some questions about your son, if that’s alright?”

They tucked their badges back out of sight as Mrs. Whittemore sighed heavily but stepped back, inviting them inside. “I don’t know what I can tell you that I haven’t already told the sheriff’s department.”

“That’s okay, we won’t keep you long. Sometimes it just helps to hear it first hand.” Scott assured her.

She led them through the foyer into what was probably the formal sitting room. The room itself was moderately sized; not too big or so fancy he was afraid to sit. It still gave him the feeling that he should have wiped his shoes on the porch and he had to remember he was being an FBI Agent in a nice suit and wasn’t a grungy teenager about to get Mrs. Whittemore’s couch dirty. He sat when she indicated the sofa, and Scott did too, already ready to take some notes if need be.

“Can I get you boys anything to drink?” She asked, polite despite the circumstances.

Stiles shook his head, “No, thank you.” Echoing Scott’s decline.

She sat opposite in one of the large chairs facing the couch. It was floral and dated, but not in a way that made it ugly. Like the rest of the room around them, it had a sort of nostalgic charm. The fireplace was framed in by packed bookshelves and a family portrait above it showed Jackson as a round faced kid no older than ten or eleven. It wasn’t cold or stuffy inside at all the way Stiles imagined when he’d first seen the house from the outside. It was more cozy; lived in.

“I have to begin by asking if you can think of anyone that would have a reason to want to hurt your son.” Scott was perched on the edge of the couch, his best manners on display as he lay the little notepad over his knees.

Mrs. Whittemore’s face tightened in concern. “I thought it was an animal attack.”

“We just have to cover all of our bases here. Just in case it wasn’t.” Scott assured her, his voice calm and professional.

“Well…” Her eyes dropped to where her hands were wringing together in her lap. “Jackson didn’t really have a lot of friends, exactly. He wasn’t always charitable when dealing with other people.”

“Was that new, or just--”

“No, Jackson was a good boy, but he didn’t trust a lot of people. He was always trying to prove that he belonged. Or that he could be better than others. But I don’t know of anyone specific that could be capable of… that would want to hurt him.”

“He was in college, is that right? UCLA?”

Mrs. Whittemore nodded. “He’d just finished junior year and came home for the summer to work and see his girlfriend.”

“And what’s her name?” Scott was writing as fast as they talked.

“Lydia Martin. She’d been away at school too, Berkley. He was happy to be here, with her. They had a rough time in high school, but I could tell things were finally better.” She ended on a sniff and had to pull out a tissue from the box on the coffee table.

Stiles kept still, his mouth clamping down tight. He might not remember Jackson Whittemore, but he remembered Lydia Martin. He’d fallen in love with her in kindergarten when she’d shoved a first grader on his ass when he’d refused to get off the swing she’d chosen to be her own and no one elses. She’d been fierce and beautiful and forever out of Stiles’ league. He could feel the tension in Scott’s body change as he tuned into the changes he sensed in Stiles, but the last thing Stiles wanted was to draw Mrs. Whittemore’s attention to his reaction, so he just jumped in to the conversation as best he could.

“What about other friends? Did he have people other than Ms. Martin in his life? Someone who might be willing to talk to us?” Stiles asked gently.

“Just Danny, that I know of. Like I said, he didn’t let a lot of people in. Danny’s been his friend for years though. He’s a good kid, I’m sure he’d be willing to talk to you.” She was starting to really sniffle now. Stiles understood it. It was hard to talk about the other people that have lost someone you loved. For him, that person was his dad. No matter how much Stiles suffered on his own, he couldn’t handle the thought of his dad’s loss. It killed him. 

Scott asked for Danny’s full name before turning the topic to when Jackson had gone missing, who was the last person to speak to him. He’d not even really been missing that his parents knew of. He’d made plans with Lydia and his body was found the next morning by the road crew. Mrs. Whittemore was wiping the tears from her cheeks. Lydia hadn’t seen him, but she’d been under the impression they were rescheduling. So the last person to see him was his mother. Stiles was feeling pretty sure she was uninvolved, but they couldn’t rule anyone out and there was no easy way to come out and ask someone what they knew about their kid being a werewolf. He’d have to get the werewolf rundown from Scott after they left.

After that, Scott wrapped the interview up pretty quickly. Jackson’s mother was beside herself, embarrassed at losing her composure, apologizing to both of them several times as they made for the door. They got Lydia’s address from her, as well as Danny’s and then they were out the door.

“It’s alright, really, you’ve given us plenty. Thank you for your help. We’re going to do everything we can to figure out what happened to your son.” Stiles assured her.

“We’re so sorry for your loss,” Scott added softly. 

She shut the door with a final sounding thud; final sounding to Stiles ears, despite the fact that she’d been nothing but helpful and kind. He couldn’t shake the unsteady feeling he got walking back down the path to the street. Scott made the universal stay silent sign at Stiles as he started up the jeep and that didn’t help either. The only reason not to speak out there in the jeep was that supernatural ears might still be listening. He nodded and pulled out on the street, turning the jeep back toward town, toward the motel.

After a couple of miles Scott relaxed back in his seat and let out a rush of breath.

“What? Was she a were too?” Stiles asked nervously.

“No, no, she was human, but when we were walking toward the jeep I sensed something. Maybe a werewolf.” Scott scrubbed absently at his arm.

“Maybe? You don’t know?” Stiles kept his eyes on the road but his voice conveyed his surprise well enough.

“It was off. Like before, but there was definitely someone. I couldn’t smell anything this time, but I couldn’t shake the feeling someone was watching us. I didn’t know if they might be able to hear us.”

“Right. Better safe than sorry,” Stiles agreed.

“Yeah.” Scott still sounded shaken.

“So what do you think? About Mrs. Whittemore?” Stiles asked.

“She was telling the truth. And she was human. I don’t know if she knew about Jackson being a werewolf, but if that’s something we really need to know, we can always ask later. I didn’t want to complicate things further just yet. But I think we need to talk to Lydia Martin. Want to tell me what that reaction to her name was about?” Scott clicked the radio off the moment Stiles reached for it.

Stiles gave him a heavy sigh, but they were going to have to talk about it. Besides it wasn’t nearly as heavy as everything else weighing on Stiles’s mind at the moment. “I know her.”

“I knew it,” Scott sounded too satisfied for his own good.

“You think you know, but you don’t know everything.” Stiles’ voice turned dark with maybe a little hint of years old bitterness. It was silly though and he knew it. They’d just been kids the last time he’d seen her. It wasn’t like romance had been an option at the time. That hadn’t stopped his mind from supplying images of what she might look like as he got older. Or his memories from wrapping her up in a tidy first crush first true love package to be put on a fantasy pedestal for all time. Logic never stood a chance in matters of the heart. 

“Alright, so tell me.”

“She was my first crush. The first time I saw her was in kindergarten and well, she never even looked twice at me,despite repeated attempts to get her attention. Anyway I haven’t seen her since the sixth grade so it’s stupid, but there it is.”

Scott was quiet for a moment. “You’re sure she’s not going to know exactly who you are?” 

“You’re going to make me pull out the old pictures aren’t you? I’m sure Dad can email you a couple. She’s not going to know me. There’s not even the tiniest chance. I swear. Trust me, I wouldn’t risk it. Lydia never knew me when I was here. She’s not going to remember me now.”

“Fine, fine. Actually no, it’s not fine. I’m going to need to see this evidence.” Scott was snickering now. Asshole.

“You’re evil.” Stiles told him.

“I know.” Gleeful bastard. “We’re going to have to talk to her next, you know.” Scott sounded decided.

“I think so too. She had plans with her boyfriend and he never showed. I want to know if he called to cancel or if she just assumed he was backing out.”

“I want to know if she’s a liar.” Scott was back at his notes, his voice turning serious.

“That too,” Stiles said.

Back at the motel, Scott started right in on adding to their evidence wall while Stiles did a little googling on Lydia. It felt good to be behind closed doors again, even if the left side of his brain reminded him werewolves and other supernatural beings weren’t easily stopped by doors. It didn’t matter though. There was something comforting about sliding the chain lock into place and making a barrier between them and the outside world. Even if that barrier was more metaphorical than anything else.

Stiles changed, leaving Scott to ponder the map in quiet. He was a jeans and t-shirt kind of guy and if he hadn’t been thinking about what they were going to eat for dinner he’d go full on pajamas right now even though it was still light out. Wearing a suit was exhausting. Like carrying around his own personal prison all day. That was just one of the many reasons he didn’t work in law enforcement with his dad. The uniform. No thank you.

He changed into a worn Who tee he’d had since high school and padded back out of the bathroom with comfortably bare feet. Scott was still at the wall making adjustments and muttering under his breath. Stiles gave him his space. Sometimes they worked best bouncing ideas off one another and sometimes it was best to step apart for a while and think through the details of the case on their own terms.

For Stiles that meant it was time to do a little more internet research on Ms. Lydia Martin. Purely for the case of course. Not at all for any personal reasons. She wasn’t hard to find either, considering the first thing that popped up was an article the local paper had run about their graduating class. Lydia was the valedictorian and her article was glowing; embarrassingly so. They went on and on about her scholarship to Berkley and her volunteering and her fundraising for historical restoration projects. Stiles was more interested in her picture which must have taken up a quarter of the page. She looked better than he’d guessed. In fact she should win awards. Puberty awards. All of them. It was distracting.

“Woah, look at that!” Scott interrupted. He was bent over Stiles’s shoulder and Stiles had no idea how long he’d been there. Some day he was going to get a bell for Scott. On a collar maybe.

“I am, I’m looking,” Stiles sighed. He’d been looking very closely. That’s how Scott had been able to sneak in undetected.

“No, look here.” Scott pointed further down the page and Stiles dragged his eyes to where he was pointing.

“She was involved with the forest preserve. That’s weird right? Considering the location of the bodies.”

“Oh man. If she’s gorgeous, brilliant, and evil, no one is safe.” Stiles laughed under his breath at his own joke.

“Shut up.” Scott hit his arm.

“I’m kidding, mostly.” Scott huffed a laugh, but let it go. They both knew he wasn’t going to start hitting on her. She’d just lost her boyfriend and was possibly a serial killer. A serial killer that could kill a werewolf at that. Dangerous. Definitely not a good time to start being interested in someone. Again.

“It is weird,” he added.

Scott elected to make a convenience store run for some supplies and dinner, leaving Stiles to his research for the time being. He managed to leave Lydia behind and worked on Danny next. He was pretty involved locally as well. It almost felt fishy. Or it might have if Stiles wasn’t sure he was mainly just feeling his own personal lack of self discipline when it came to things like helping the elderly or volunteering at the library. He was pretty useless for things like that. Though he liked to think that helping keep his dad healthy was a pretty good contribution, he still felt a little jealous when he realized that Jackson too was involved in several organizations in Beacon Hills. It was probably nothing, but he added that information to the wall, all the same.

That night they dined on cold cut sandwiches and bottled beer and wound up sharing stories back and forth of all the crushes they’d had growing up. Stiles had had a few girlfriends, but not until college. Before then he’d been too lanky and weird to attract anyone. Which was just another reason he probably really ought to try and go back. As for crushes he’d only had Lydia here, Amanda in middle school, John Ford his freshman year of high school-- talk about an eye opener, and Betty Paige since always though Scott tried to throw that one out since she was a famous type crush and not an in person pining type crush.

“Oh I pined, Scott, believe me, I pined.” His argument was falling on deaf ears.

Scott on the other hand had been in love with every girl he ever met, but only dated three of them. Neither of them had had anything serious in too long to count. It was too difficult, with what they did, and for Scott even harder. He’d have to really trust someone a lot to let them in on his secret and then they’d still have to deal with the fact that sometimes he’d have to leave. Sometimes in the middle of the night. There weren’t any set hours to the hunting gig and the pay was shit too. No, dating and hunting were two things Stiles couldn’t imagine going together. Sam and Dean were both single, and though he’d heard of a few hunter families, he just couldn’t imagine getting close to someone any time soon. No matter how lonely he got. Of course Dean’s solution to that had always been to keep things casual, and Stiles could be okay with that. It just wasn’t really his thing. It wasn’t Scott’s either.

Stiles drifted off somewhere in the middle of Scott’s retelling how he’d met his last girlfriend, when he’d still been human. He didn’t have any nightmares, none that he could remember anyway, but he was sure he’d woken up at one point to an owl hooting just outside his window, and when he woke up he found he’d kicked off his blanket and sheet and both his pillows were on the floor too. Scott was already in the shower which meant the alarm hadn’t budged him at all and he was freezing. The curtains were pulled back, but then, that might have been Scott’s way of trying to be subtle about waking him up. Stiles busied himself with putting his bed back together and turning on the wall heater to give the room a little warmth and then raided their stash of junk food for breakfast while he waited for Scott to vacate the bathroom and for his fingers and toes to stop feeling like ice.

He flopped down on the end of the bed, tugging the blanket up around his shoulders for warmth, not at all because the cold he was feeling was settled somewhere in the pit of his stomach, and turned on the tv.

That’s where Scott found him fifteen minutes later, glued to the television in stunned silence while the reporter recounted the details of the latest in a string of animal attacks. This time a woman, a late night jogger was found by a group of teenagers sneaking in to the park after hours. 

“Jaylin Parker is in critical condition.” The reported added seriously. Whatever she said next, Stiles didn’t hear. The words were ringing in Stiles’ ears.

“She survived.” Scott’s voice was hushed, his hand on Stiles’s shoulder, gripping, as though needing something solid for himself.

“She survived.” Stiles echoed.

Whether or not that would change, or what it meant for the case, neither could say, but one thing was certain. Whatever was going on, it had to be stopped, and soon.


	5. And We're Not Little Children

Stiles and Scott spent a quiet morning looking over the details of the case. Both of them were coming from different angles, and both knew they needed more information. “I want to visit the hospital first.” Scott said finally, breaking the silence.

Stiles stopped his typing. “I thought we were talking to Lydia.” he didn’t look up, but he did try to keep his pulse from spiking at the thought of going back to the hospital so soon.

“I know, but I think it’d help if I could see this Jaylin Parker myself. If she’s a were too, then we need to know.” Scott stopped his pacing and came and sat opposite of Stiles. “If you want, I can go alone. Just slip in and out. You can stay here, keep working on trying to break in to the sheriff department’s records. I’d be back before you knew it and then we’d go see Lydia.”

It was a tempting offer, but they rarely split up like that. “I don’t know if you should go alone.” Stiles told him.

Scott smiled at him and stood. “But you’ll let me, right?”

His face told Stiles he knew he was winning. Stiles wasn’t ready to see Beacon Hills Memorial again this morning. “Okay, but promise me one thing.” Stiles’s fingers tapped a nervous beat on the table next to his laptop.

“Sure,” Scott said. He was slipping on his shoes, checking his reflection in the mirror.

“If you get that feeling again, or sense anyone supernatural nearby, or smell the rotting wrong death scent, you leave. Don’t follow whoever or whatever that is on your own.” Stiles fixed him with his most sincerely pointed look.

“Got it. I promise.” Scott sounded much too casual for Stiles’ liking, but he trusted Scott to be careful. Mostly.

“Back soon,” Scott grabbed up the keys to the jeep. “I’ll bring donuts.”

The moment the door closed, Stiles regretted his decision, but felt helpless all the same. He couldn’t go after Scott because he couldn’t go with him. He was a coward. Stiles let his head drop into his hands and he scrubbed at his face trying to rub some life or courage into his skin. It didn’t work though, he stayed glued to the chair as Scott started up the jeep outside and pulled out of the parking lot.

It took him almost ten minutes to pull himself back together. He wasn’t panicking, but he felt heavy and useless. Maybe overwhelmed. It felt like too much work suddenly, too many unknowns. So he wallowed for those ten minutes and then he straightened his back, popped his knuckles and dug back into his hacking.

The sheriff’s department could probably use some updating when it came to internet security, because he got in the back way easier than expected. The autopsy for the first victim was there, so were the eyewitness accounts. The most interesting thing to Stiles was the fact that there was no information on the first cases being related. Not just that they weren’t really looking into it, but that there wasn’t a single mention of a possible connection. Not even about there being a rogue animal in the area. Nothing. It was way too tidy for him and smelled of a cover up, which was crazy right? It felt paranoid, even for his line of work.

By the time he’d screenshot and saved what he wanted to, Scott was unlocking their door and coming in, his face guarded. He did in fact have a pink box of donuts though, so that was welcome.

“Not a werewolf.” Scott told him, sliding the box onto the table.

“Well, that’s something, right? What else?” Stiles went right for the blueberry cake donut nestled in the corner. It was his favorite.

Scott took off his jacket and sat, rolling up the sleeves of his white button down. “Whatever got Jackson, this was the same thing. Or close to the same thing. It had a distinct scent though, maybe because it was fresher. Her throat was gashed, but not all the way through, and she has some trauma to her head, that’s what’s got her in a coma. They don’t know if she’ll wake up.” He reached for one of the glazed donuts and sat back, propping his his foot onto the opposite knee.

“She’s got three little kids at home.” He turned the donut over in his hands before taking a bite. “And I know it’s too soon to tell, but it just feels like she was at the wrong place at the wrong time. If the sheriff’s department were doing their job, they’d be at least warning people to take extra precautions.”

Stiles didn’t say anything at first. They ate their donuts, the silence heavy with the burden they were both carrying. When the blueberry donut was nothing more than crumbs sticking to his finger, Stiles said, “Maybe they’re actively trying to cover it up.”

“You really do think the sheriff’s department is involved.” Scott knew he’d been suspicious before, but this was getting serious. Working against law enforcement would be new to both of them. Hiding their identities and motives while working a case was one thing, but trying to prove the sheriff’s department was involved in criminal activity was another and they both knew it.

“It’s fishy. They keep insisting it’s an animal attack, but there’s no signs or warnings about wild animals or a curfew or anything! And they’re not treating it as one case.” It made Stiles bristle. It was okay for them not to know what they were dealing with, but it was negligent to risk public safety like that.

“Okay that’s fishy, but let’s don’t call it a conspiracy yet. There’s still a chance it’s good old fashioned ignorance.” Scott cautioned.

“Alright, I can live with that for now. But I don’t like how it’s being handled.” Stiles crossed his arms over his chest.

“I’ll put it in the log.” Scott told him, trying to lighten the mood, if only for a little bit.

After that it was all about finishing their breakfast of champions, washing it down with orange juice, and getting ready to track down Lydia. Scott was planning to go for a run that night to see if he could catch wind of whatever it was that was stalking the general public, and that made Stiles nervous enough as it was, but thinking about seeing Lydia after all that time was almost as frightening. she wouldn’t remember him, he was sure. Pretty sure. His pen cap might disagree with his certainty, however, if it’s half chewed state was anything to go by.

Her apartment was close. Too close to give him time to relax on the drive over. All he could do now was try and act the part. He could do his job, he told himself. He could do his job and do it well and in that little way he was giving something to Lydia, by finding out who or what had killed her boyfriend. Unless it was her, then he was doing everyone else a favor by figuring it out.

“You going to be alright, Romeo?” Scott was settling in on the passenger side and sounding smug. That was how they both dealt with shit when it got too serious, so Stiles didn’t hold against him too much.

“Ha, ha. Just wait, you’ll see exactly why when you meet her, okay?” Stiles put the jeep in gear and pulled out with a squelch of rubber on gravel.

“Okay, okay,” Scott laughed under his breath because he was a dick. It was a good thing Stiles loved the guy so much.

Lydia answered her door and proceeded to stand right in it so they couldn’t see past into her apartment. She fixed them both with a hard stare, but Stiles was temporarily mute. Yeah, the graduation pic hadn’t done her justice. At all. She was still petite, her hair a riot of dark red waves that was gathered together in a deep blue ribbon and spilling over one shoulder.

“What do you want?” She asked finally, punctuating each word as though speaking to very young children. Young children she was very put out with. Her eyes flicked between them, one perfectly sculpted eyebrow raising while she waited for a response.

Scott cleared his throat. Ha! Stiles wasn’t the only one affected. The funny thing about it though, was that once she opened her mouth she broke the spell. This wasn’t his childhood crush Lydia Martin. This was Lydia Martin person of interest. Lovely, true, but ultimately Stiles knew it wasn’t the woman before him he was carrying the torch for. He didn’t even know her. This Lydia was a perfect stranger for all intents and purposes.

“Hello, I’m Agent Nicholson, this is Agent Summers. We’d like to ask some questions about Jackson Whittemore.” Scott was back on the ball too, thank the gods.

“And I’d like to see some I.D., boys.” Lydia told them before they could even reach for them, her arms crossed, waiting.

“Of course,” Scott pulled his out then Lydia watched as Stiles did the same. She leaned in close, and for a moment Stiles was worried that her famed intelligence might include a knowledge of forgeries or FBI identification, but she nodded at last, satisfied. She still didn’t look pleased to see them.

“Fine, we can talk, but I’m leaving in a few minutes.” She didn’t bother telling them why, just stepped out onto the little porch with them and shut the door.

Stiles looked around to make sure no one else was around watching them. “Can we come in?” He asked, his voice going high on the end of the question. They couldn’t have a decent conversation about anything out here. Then again, that was probably why she did it.

“No. I’m busy, I’m on my way out. Now talk before I leave you here.” Lydia stood as tall as her diminished stature allowed, back straight and shoulders squared, daring them to try and change her mind.

“We won’t take too much of your time, Ms. Martin. We just have a couple of questions.” Scott jumped in, trying to smooth things over. Across the way an older man stepped out of his apartment, his eyes flicking over them all as he locked up. Lydia didn’t spare him a glance. She was watching Scott and Stiles and there was a coldness hanging over them all that he couldn’t shake off even as Scott began to ask questions. He was smart enough to admit that might have more to do with himself than with Lydia, though. No matter how she responded to them. The truth was she had every right to be suspicious of them. That was practically the name of the game, after all.

“Mrs. Whittemore told us Jackson had plans with you, Thursday night. But you told the police you thought he’d cancelled. Was that because he called or because he didn’t show up?” Scott flipped to a clean page in his notebook.

Where Mrs. Whittemore had been grief stricken, Lydia stood rigid, keeping her responses logical with just enough information to be considered almost polite. “He didn’t call that night, but he’d told me earlier in the day he wasn’t sure if he could make it or not.” Her voice was clipped.

“Did he tell you why?” Stiles asked before he could stop himself. Her gray eyes turned on him, piercing, maybe calculating.

“No. If he had, I would have told the police.” She uncrossed her arms and put them on her hips, tossing her hair back over her shoulder so it disappeared down her back.

Scott didn’t rise to the bait, thankfully. She clearly already had Stiles on edge. He wasn’t mad at her, she’d just lost someone important, but he wasn’t sure how to handle her either. Though how that was different than any other time he spoke to people, he wasn’t sure, but it felt different. He felt much more off kilter in front of her. “When did you talk exactly? Do you remember?” Scott’s voice was easy, relaxed. Maybe one of these days Stiles would actually try it his way for a change. Or at least be open to try and learn. Maybe it was a Zen thing. Scott had more calm in his little finger than Stiles had in his whole body. Probably from all that meditating he did, learning to control his inner wolf or whatever.

“He called me on his lunch break. He was having a busy day. It made sense.” Lydia’s voice was sharp.

“Except, then he told his mother he was meeting you that night when he left the house.” Scott said it carefully, not accusing the way Stiles felt ready to do.

“I assume that was true, but either way he didn’t call me to confirm or cancel, so when he didn’t show up over here I didn’t think twice about it.” Lydia’s voice grew tighter and tighter with each word.

“How long had you and Jackson been together?” Scott switched tactics and Stiles could have hugged him. The tension on Lydia’s doorstep was starting to be strung so tight he was going to end up snapping and ruining it for the both of them.

It made Lydia sigh, heavily put upon, but she did stop glaring daggers through Stiles’s skull. “We met in high school, sophomore year. We dated off and on for a couple of years and then were broken up a while. We’d been back together for almost two years though. This fall.”

Scott was nodding, not writing. It was so hard not to drag him out to the jeep and demand to know what he knew. It was driving Stiles nuts. “His mother told us she thought college had been really good for him.”

“It was. Jackson had his whole life ahead of him. We were just about to go back when this happened.” Her voice was very quiet suddenly and Stiles felt bad then, but not bad enough to take her off his suspect list. “Are we done? I really need to go.”

Scott nodded. “We’re done. Thank you for your time.”

Lydia didn’t answer, she just slipped back into her apartment, shutting and locking the door in their faces. Scott and Stiles shared a look and both breathed out heavily as they turned to beat a hasty path back to the parking lot, back to the jeep.

“Okay so--” Scott began but Stiles cut him off as he snapped himself in.

“Was she?” Stiles asked, his hand coming up, fingers curled into the semblance of a clawed hand. He grimaced at Scott as though, letting out a soft, “Grr.”

Scott shook his head but still didn’t feel comfortable talking until they were back on the road. “No, she wasn’t, but she was lying. When she talked about the night Jackson was supposed to meet her, she lied. She might have been lying about everything she said. Except about their relationship. She was honest about that.”

“She was pretty determined to keep us out of her apartment too.” Stiles added.

“I don’t know what it was, but she didn’t trust us at all and she tried her best to keep her heart under control. She almost had it, it was almost too perfect. Except for the outright lies. She couldn’t hide that.”

Stiles swallowed the sudden lump in his throat. “You think she knew what you were?”

“It’s a possibility. There are spells I’ve heard of and I’m not an alpha, or even a part of a pack. It’s harder for me to hide what I am from people who know what to look for.”

They fell quiet for a while then as Stiles drove, both considering the newest information and what their next steps needed to be. It was good to let it sink in, Stiles still felt off balance from their encounter with Lydia and he didn’t know why. It was too simple to think it was because he knew her, that didn’t feel like the answer to him. It was too strong, his reaction to her, too sudden and uncontrolled. He’d been angry at one point, confused at another. Why? Maybe it was this town, he thought, as he drove.

Lydia went on the wall with a black tack marking her apartment. Stiles couldn’t explain exactly what it was about her, but the more he’d thought about it the more he was sure it meant something. Scott agreed she was suspicious, because of the lying, but he hadn’t experienced the odd emotional shifting Stiles had.

“Are you sure it’s not just this place? You’ve been off ever since we pulled into town.” Scott was emailing his mom an update since she was working nights and would still be asleep. He hadn’t wanted to call or text her and risk waking her up.

He didn’t get a verbal reply out of Stiles. First because it made Stiles sound like a headcase and second because there was a tiny part of Stiles that thought he might be right. So he didn’t say anything, he just grabbed the ice bucket and excused himself shutting the door to the motel room a little harder than strictly necessary.

The maid was several doors down, backing out of a room and relocking it, her industrial yellow cart overflowing with bedding, graying hair pinned at the back of her head. Her eyes narrowed at him and Stiles felt his cheeks heat up just like they used to when his dad would call him out for being a little shit in public. He tried a guilty shrug, but she was already entering the next room. If he felt guilty then that meant he’d need to apologize to his best friend. Eventually. The ice machine was just though a walkway that led to the front of the motel, and the walk and fresh air would hopefully do him some good.

The front parking lot was quiet, in a middle of the day people are out and busy kind of way. Across the street, in the park, there were a few very small kids, too young for school, and the sounds of their voices could just be heard over the little bit of traffic and distance between them and Stiles. It made him want to call his dad. His dad always put the innocent first. He’d probably be just as angry or more so than Stiles about the way the Beacon Hills department seemed to be handing this mess. Granted it was the middle of the day and all the murders had taken place at night, so far, but it just felt reckless not to have some kind of warning for these families.

Stiles’s fingers were burning, and it took him a moment to realize that was because he was standing in front of the ice machine with a bucket full of ice, the fingertips of his right hand curling over the lip of the bucket so they were covered in ice. He withdrew them and hurried to shut the door to the machine. He couldn’t have been lost in his thoughts for too long, but turning back around and seeing their kids again, made him think that maybe it would be a good idea to call his dad, if for nothing more than to hear his voice and maybe get his feet under himself before he really snapped and lost the ability to finish this job.

“I come in peace,” Stiles said cautiously, waving the bag of food around the door frame like a white flag. Scott laughed so he decided it was safe enough to go in.

Scott was stretched out on his bed with one of the books about werewolf lore he always travelled with, his notepad and pen next to him. He eyed the bag of goodies eagerly, the corner of his mouth pulling up in a half grin. Bringing Scott food was playing dirty. Stiles knew that, but luckily his best friend new all his tactics already so it wasn’t too underhanded of him.

“I found a Chinese place catty corner from us.” He said by way of explaination as he began laying the cartons out on the table. Scott pulled himself off the bed, leaving his book and notes behind and slid into the other chair.

“I thought you went for ice,” Scott raised an eyebrow at him, but his smile was still in place.

“I did,” Stiles sat the empty ice bucket on the table as well and took his seat. “It’s a long story. Which ends with me realizing I didn’t really want ice.”

“You wanted Chinese food?”

“I wanted to talk to you, about everything.” Stiles felt a stirring of nerves zinging along his fingers so he folded them together and squeezed. Scott was laying his chopsticks back down even though he hadn’t had a bite of anything yet. His smile was gone and in it’s place was a much more somber look.

“I’m here for you, man, I’m listening.” Scott’s voice was soothing, and it made Stiles’s breath rush all out at once in relief. He hadn’t even realized he was holding his breath.

“Thank you.” Stiles was ready, but he took a sip from the bottled water he’d bought before starting.

“You know I lived here, and that we moved after we lost my mom.” He waited for Scott to nod, then shifted in his seat. “And that I met Dean because of how my mom died.” Again Scott nodded, solemn. Stiles took a deep breath and forcibly pulled his hands out of the clenching grasp they had formed together. He rubbed imaginary sweat from his palms and tried to keep his shoulders from tightening up any further. Scott had never ask for more information and Stiles had never offered it. But he was ready. As ready as he would ever be.

“She got sick. At first it seemed like a virus or something. She was tired a lot, couldn’t eat much, had headache. No fever though, and there were days when she seemed to be doing better. But it starting getting worse. She stopped eating altogether and she was forgetful. Her doctor couldn’t find anything really wrong with her, but when she began waking up in weird places without knowing how she got there, and losing track of what time it was or what day it was, her doctor sent her for some tests.” Stiles had to stop, his eyes away from Scott. To the left, where his shoes could be seen just under the end of the bed.

Scott reached across the table for his hand, and Stiles gratefully accepted the support. His words felt clogged in his throat, just remembering that day, the day when he knew everything was about to change.

“They called it frototemporal dementia. It’s incurable. It was scary and awful and I remember listening in at the door and wondering how the doctor could say it so calmly like he was telling them she had a cold.” Stiles took another swig from his water bottle. He twisted the cap back, but then twisted it off again, on and off repetitively without even realizing it. Scott’s face was guarded, but he was listening intently.

“It got worse. And not even in the way you might expect. During one of her last lucid days she told my dad everything about her past. About being a pack emissary in Nevada when she was younger. About wanting to get away from that life because she wanted to settle down and build a family and couldn’t because her pack was always on the move. They’d parted ways peacefully and she’d moved here and met my dad. It wasn’t until she was pregnant that she even realized that Beacon Hills was home to all sorts of supernatural creatures. She stayed away from it for years, but when I was little there were several packs in town, which made her wary. She could feel that things weren’t calm. The packs were embroiled in a feud.”

“Of course my dad didn’t believe a word of it. Not until he met the local pack’s emissary. It was a lot to take in, but I’m sure he took it the best way he could. She wasn’t done though, because the reason she’d decided to tell him all of that was because her sickness was a result of some kind of accidental magical feedback. She was convinced, enough so that she convinced my dad to call Bobby. I only heard bits and pieces of that conversation, but he sent Sam and Dean to try and help my mom. She was too sick though, she didn’t have any time left at that point.” Stiles looked down at the bottle in his hand, then tightened the lid one last time and set it aside.

“All the research in the world couldn’t stop her from wasting away and I was angry. I wanted to know what exactly had happened and who I could blame for doing that to her. That was when the Beacon Hills pack was killed. Dad had his hands full trying to do his job without letting on he knew anything about werewolves, the local emissary disappeared, and the other packs feld. There were no answers and no one left to blame. Mom passed away one evening when Dad was out on a call. She just squeezed my hand really tight, apologized to me. She told me she loved me, and then she was just gone.”

His cheeks were wet, so he wiped at them with the back of his hand. He didn’t even remember starting to cry, but the memory was too real. He could see the stale blue florescent from the one light they’d had on in her room that night. He could smell the burning antiseptic of the hospital cleaner. His mother’s lips were dry, her pretty round cheeks, shrunken, her hair a limpo mess across her pillow. But her eyes were still bright gray, even though they looked too large for her face. Her thin hand held his so tight, as if she thought if she could just hang on tight enough, then maybe she’d never have to let go.

At some point Scott had come around the table and pulled Stiles up into a hug, holding him tight against his shoulder despite the fact that Stiles was the taller of the two of them. They wound up sitting together at the end of the bed, shoulder to shoulder, as Stiles finished, his throat still raw, voice barely a whisper.

“Dean stayed on for a couple of days, to help out. He told me about losing his mom, and then his dad, and he made me promise to take care of my dad. Left his number, promised he was always just a phone call away. I don’t know what I would have done without that. It wasn’t much, but for a kid whose whole world had just been blown apart, it was something solid to hang on to. Of course after that, I couldn’t ever get enough information. Drove my dad crazy. He moved us out of Beacon Hills not even a year later. And the rest you know.” Stiles finished and felt completely drained.

Scott made him finish his water and then they finally ate. The food was mostly cold, but Stiles felt better than he had in days so he couldn’t be bothered to care. After lunch they both settle in quietly to dig a little deeper. Stiles with the laptop on his chest, laying in bed, and Scott on the floor next to him, leaning against the edge. It was a pack thing, needing to be close after one of them was hurt. They weren’t really a pack because Scott wasn’t an alpha, but that never had stopped them before. It was comfortable and quiet and the sense of unease that had permeated everything since they’d driven into town, faded softly into the background until Stiles didn’t even notice it anymore.


	6. And We Know What We Want

The afternoon sun glinted off the reds and golds of the trees that lined the street outside the motel. Stiles’s eyes ached from staring at the computer too long and now his mind drifted with his eyes across the street, to the park, to the sky, to anything that wasn’t the endless runaround of Beacon Hills and the case that was going nowhere.

“We have to go out tonight,” he told Scott after he watched the line of school buses going through the intersection.

“I know.” Scott’s voice was still soft, introspective. He didn’t look up from the book he was reading.

“I’m going with you.” Stiles wanted to be clear about that point.

“I know.” Scott assured him, but his voice didn’t sound very sure to Stiles’s ears. His finger stopped scanning down the page and his whole body held still. Stiles waited, expecting him to say whatever it was that had his eyebrows furrowing, but Scott only shifted around on the bed, rustling the thin quilt beneath him.

They didn’t speak again, Stiles saving his notes online and Scott flipping through his own, page by page as if looking for a pattern he couldn’t quite make sense of yet.

Before a night hunt, if there was time, Stiles napped. Scott didn’t need to. Sure he might be worn out the next day or at least by the next night, but his stamina was supernatural after all. Stiles needed the sleep or he’d have to rely strictly on sugar and caffeine to keep him awake and that way usually lay madness in the form of a seriously inconvenient crash. After the day they’d had, a nap sounded just about right, already he felt weary from not making much headway and running in to more questions than they had answers.

He planted face first into his bed with a grown toeing off his shoes and letting them hit the floor with dull thuds. “Wake me for dinner,” Stiles mumbled into his pillow.

“I’m going to hit the library, get the feel for the town, see if I can find us any more leads before tonight.” Scott had only sat a moment and now he was getting ready to leave again. Stiles rolled over, watching him.

“I’ll bring dinner back, okay?” Scott wasn’t asking for the keys. He was walking. That meant he was feeling the opposite of Stiles. He had energy to burn and couldn’t stand to be still just now.

“You’re not going to the preserve though, right?” Stiles was too groggy to really argue. He’d hit a wall and his head was throbbing.

Scott just shook his head. “I’ll be close. Get some rest, I’ll be back before you know it.”

Stiles was asleep only minutes after the door closed, the sound of the air conditioning unit a comforting hum that got further and further away the deeper he drifted.

Thick trees wove together overhead blocking the any light that might have reached him. It may as well be night, it was that dark in the forest. He turned, sneakers crunching over dry leaves and twigs, but he couldn’t see more than a few feet around him and he didn’t know how he got there or how to get out. So Stiles stopped, standing as still as possible, and he listened in an attempt to get his bearings and steady his nerves which were already ratcheting up way too fast.

His hunter training, and years of being a cop’s kid kicked into gear. Stiles backed up against the trunk of a tree and listened again, quieting his breath, quieting his own movements in an attempt to blend better with his surrounding. It’s still around him now that his own feet have stopped moving. He reached into his pockets but came back empty handed. No phone. No keys. No way of knowing how long it’s been since he was last in the motel room which in and of itself is more than a little terrifying.

Stiles forced himself to think, to stay clear headed though his first instinct is to panic. If he’s been taken and put there, which is the most likely scenario, then Scott will be looking for him, will have his scent and trail him. That’s the good news. He’s not alone even though right now he feels very much alone. Then he realizes, sneakers. He doesn’t remember changing into sneakers. Or jeans come to think of it. His hands run back down his thighs, up again, patting over his old hoodie. Stiles blinked down at himself in the darkness, at his beat up shoes, the tear in the knee of his jeans, the zipper of the hoodie and the small hands that tug at the hem.

“Oh my god!” His voice is almost a full octave higher because he’s no more than seven or eight and about to swing into a full blown panic attack. He fell to the ground, pulling up his knees and hugging them tight to his chest, eyes going wildly back and forth in the little space he can see ahead of him. It’s disorienting, now that he knows how small he is and it comes with a rush of emotion he’s not able to handle. A branch to his right creaks, then a twig snaps sharply behind him, behind the tree he’s sheltering against. Before he can think he’s on his feet again, holding his breath as the urge to run thrums through his whole body.

His dad taught him not to run, to stay put until help could be found. But he’s scared and the feeling that there’s someone or something just on the other side of the tree is growing in leaps and bounds until he’s convinced he can hear soft panting coming from just a foot away. It runs through him, taking away the last of his adult logic and replacing it with every childhood fear about the things that go bump in the night, the things that hunt little children and eat up their bones for dinner.

Stiles darts away from the tree, straight out, arms stretched in front of him, pushing at some of the lower hanging branches that he runs right into. Behind him there is noise of pursuit, a crashing sound followed by unmistakable steps pounding in time to his own as he weaves between the trees, tripping over bushes and logs, stumbling to get away. It’s useless though, because no matter how much faster he tries to force his legs to go, the thing behind him is gaining on him.

He takes a sharp turn and falls down a steep incline, the ground coming up to catch him as he rolls, hands scraping into rock that he can’t hold on to and he cries out when his ankle gives a loud pop. Above him his pursuer laughs and it’s not like anything Stiles has ever heard before. It’s not human. It’s icy cold and mocking and hurts to listen to.

But it’s no use, no matter how Stiles scrambles now, he can’t pull himself up on his hurt foot. Not even when the thing comes crashing down the hill after him, not even when it closes a clawed fist around his arm and pulls at him. Stiles screams and the sound rips out of him painfully, but it’s no good, the thing, he can’t even get a good look at it becomes he’s still trying to fight his way out of it’s grasp, but it only holds him tighter, tearing at his clothes. Stiles screams again when it begins to shake him, hard.

“Stiles! Hey, come on!” Scott was above him, shaking him.

Stiles sat up abruptly, panting, confused. Luckily that just made Scott hang on tighter. “Hey, it’s okay, it was a dream.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Stiles couldn’t quite catch his breath yet, but he was relieved. So very relieved to find himself still in bed and safe in the motel. He glanced down at himself, checking he was still all in one piece, one adult piece, and he was.

Scott let his shoulders go, but sat on the edge of the bed, watching him. “Nightmare,” Stiles confirmed, though it was hardly necessary. Scott raised his eyebrows but held back whatever sarcastic reply he had in favor of being a good friend. “You okay, you had me worried there for a minute.”

“I’m okay, that was just--” Stiles rubbed at his eyes as if he could rub the image of the clawed hand away. “That was really intense.”

“I guess so, I heard you screaming and came running. Took me almost five minutes to pull you out of it. I was this close to dumping water on you.” He shook the bottle at Stiles who was grateful he hadn’t had to wake up drenched on top of everything else. Not that he wasn’t already though, he realized, running a hand through his sweat soaked hair.

Scott moved to the table as Stiles sat further up. His throat felt gritty, probably from the screaming, but thankfully the dream was already fading, leaving behind the feeling that he was overdressed, hot, and grimy.

“Did you find anything?” Stiles asked, swinging his legs over the side of the bed.

“Not too much. Why don’t you get cleaned up, I can tell you over dinner.” Scott was pulling foil wrapped burgers from paper bags.

Despite being curious, Stiles couldn’t help but feel like a shower might actually make him feel more alive and less like the zombie he felt like now. “Yeah, okay.”

In the shower, Stiles only allowed himself a minute or two to be confused about being a kid in his dream. It shouldn’t be all that surprising, really, he told himself. He’d been stressed and paranoid all day. The regression, back to the most stressful time in his life, only made sense. He bathed quickly in almost cold water, soaping and rinsing while the last bits of the unease rolled off him, washed away down the drain. By the time he was dressing in t-shirt and jeans his stomach was growling and he was ready to dig in to that burger he’d seen earlier.

Dinner went fast, Scott was clearing his trash before Stiles took his first bite, so he hurried to catch up as Scott relayed how his walk about town had gone.

“Someone was following me.” Scott wasn’t wasting time, jumping right to the most important detail.

“Someone like--”

“A werewolf.” Scott settled his arms on the table, leaning toward Stiles, his voice dropping softly. They both knew though, if a were wanted to hear the conversation, they could, even at a whisper. Stiles grimaced, chewing around the handful of fries he’d crammed in his mouth.

“The thing is, I didn’t even notice it at first. I just saw this guy a couple of times, but I didn’t get anything off him. Not a hint of a scent, nothing. But I when I was leaving the library I caught a hint of that weird smell and I froze. Right across the street that same guy does the same thing, stiffening up, looking off toward the back of the building like he sensed it too. And then I smelled it. I think he was the were. He must have been masking his scent somehow, but when he got distracted he lost control. When he caught me looking at him, he ran. Just disappeared before I could even think about following him. And I would have, but the scent ended, like it just dropped off.” Scott’s hands were squeezing together, twisting on the table between them. He was worried.

“What does that mean? How can he just do that?” Stiles dropped his burger, leaning closer himself.

“He must be an alpha. That’s the only explanation I have for that. Alphas have all kinds of powers other wolves don’t. But that’s not all.” Scott swallowed nervously. “Yeah, I think he’s the guy Emmie, that waitress, was describing.” Scott blew out a heavy breath between his lips, his hands finally resting as he leaned back in his chair.

“I guess it was too much to hope this werewolf was completely uninvolved.” Stiles told him.

“Yeah. I just don’t like it. There are too many players and we don’t even know what the game is yet.” Scott raked his hand through his hair with a sigh. “Do you think we should call Dean?”

Stiles shook his head. “No, well, maybe, but not yet. Let’s do our patrol tonight, see if we can come up with anything concrete before we call for backup.”

“Okay, yeah. We can do that.” Scott fell quiet then and Stiles finished his food, washing it down with the soda Scott pushed across the table at him.

It’s ten o’clock before they head out. Purposefully late enough to avoid most of the townspeople as they drive through, but early enough to give them hours of hunting through the preserve if necessary. The point of tonight isn’t to find a single location, but to delve deeper into the forest and see if they can find other clues, clues that might lead to the connection in the murders or to the strange wolf scent that is muddling Scott’s senses. Either way they need a break in this case before calling Dean because as it stands they both feel like they’ve found nothing and done nothing worthwhile since their arrival in town.

Stiles can tell it’s hanging in the air between them as he drives toward the preserve. Three victims and so far they have some pretty out there conspiracy ideas and several shady suspects that may or may not actually be directly involved. The truth is, and this is a truth he and Scott hated to learn, it’s just not like it is on tv or in the movies. No matter how much he wishes it were the type of thing you could solve in under an hour or over the course of a day or two, it’s just not. They’ve spent days in a cabin in the woods waiting to witness a haunting with nothing to show for it. They’ve been on vamp hunts that led them all over the suburbs that ended with the local cops getting the jump on them. They once chased a demon halfway across the state only to discover they’d been given the slip and were chasing nothing. But those are the better stories, because being a hunter meant a lot of waiting around. A lot of research and interviews and listening to people who turn out to be the very worst sources. Sometimes there’s a turn of luck and sometimes they leave empty handed. However, when people’s lives are on the line, that kind of waiting around and study usually pays off. That’s what Stiles tries to remind himself as they leave the main strip behind. It’s still early in the investigation, and as anxious as he as, as they both are, he knows it’s going to take patience to start uncovering the real truth of what’s happening in Beacon Hills.

Stiles parked far enough off the road that he hopes the jeep won’t be seen by anyone just driving through. That means hiking into the woods by foot, but that was always the plan. It’s going to be a long night, but he and Scott are convinced that this is the next logical step; good old fashioned foot work.

They start where they left off the last time, though the scents are even fainter now than they were before. Scott’s going to lead them out from the clearing into the forest in ever widening arcs looking for a new trail or any clue as to where the strange scent he keeps catching is coming from. Though there’s no reason to believe this is going to lead them anywhere, Stiles came armed, tucking his gun into the back of his waistband in a way that would make his dad nervous. It’s better for him though, and that’s all that’s going to matter if they run into trouble. It’s currently loaded with silver bullets, which are great for hitting weres, but are sadly not as effective as popular media would suggest. It takes a lot to take down a werewolf and if Scott’s instincts about the man he caught following him are right, then that’s an alpha and it would take even more to stop one of them.

Fifteen minutes into their hike and Stiles is already bored. Or restless. Mostly bored. Probably not at all nervous. Just not a lot to see in the woods. At night. Trees, trees, leaves he should be better at avoiding crunching under foot, more trees. Scott’s ahead by several paces, but Stiles jogs to catch up when the quiet gets to him.

“Anything?” Stiles asks, casting his flashlight over the ground where Scott has stopped.

“No, but I can tell it’s going to be a long night.” Scott peered over his shoulder, pointedly. It made Stiles huff in annoyance.

Stiles threw his hand out, gesturing ahead of them. “Lead on then, oh fearless one, I can’t help it if I feel antsy out here.”

Scott didn’t jump at the chance to make a joke about being the leader and that didn’t help the skin crawling tingling that was beginning to roll over Stiles. There wasn’t anything to do though, but keep looking and following Scott as their made their first circle around the crime scene.

Moving out for the second arc into the forest, Stiles was on high alert. It probably had more to do with the fact that the trees looked exactly as they had in his dream, which hello, they’d just been here the other day, but he was giving up on his false bravado. It felt weird and wrong and Scott was picking up on a lot of nothing.

Just as they were beginning the third pass, Scott stopped, his nose lifted enough that Stiles glanced around quickly. He couldn’t see anything, but the tense line of Scott’s body told him there was definitely something there. Scott glanced back at him, motioning him forward with the twitch of one hand. Stiles stepped as carefully as he could until he was shoulder to shoulder with his friend.

“It’s close. I thought it was an old scent, but then I heard it. It’s listening to us.” Scott whispered.

“Where?” Stiles mouthed, his hand already raising his gun.

He didn’t have to wait though, a large gray wolf stepped slowly out from the trees to their left, only eight feet or so away. It bared its teeth and growled low in it’s throat. Scott shifted, Stiles felt the shudder run through him, more than he saw, because they were still pressed close together. He gave a warning growl in return.  
Neither of them had time to say what they were both surely thinking, which was this was the first time either of them had seen a fully shifted werewolf. In fact, Stiles wouldn’t even be sure it was a werewolf if not for the fact that Scott was nodding at him as if in answer to that exact question.

“That’s the one. He’s been all over town.” Scott stepped slightly forward in front of Stiles.

In return the wolf circled further to the right so they were more or less facing each other directly. Stiles felt frozen on the spot, staring into the dark eyes of the wolf as it continued threatening them without coming any closer. all the hair on the back of his neck prickled in fear, and he was sure he was making things worse by smelling so incompetent and afraid. He steadied his gun at the wolf, ready to tell it they had a few questions for it, which was already sounding ridiculous in his head, when a sound to their right caught him off guard and he glanced over in time to see a man walk out into the circle of moonlight they stood in.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he asked. Stiles sputtered, glancing back toward the wolf, but it was gone. Scott shifted back silently and turned to look as well, but Stiles didn’t lower his gun.

“We could ask you the same thing. You seem to be following me.” Scott told him and Stiles shivered. This was the biker dude and he certainly fit that description. From the black leather jacket right down to his leather boots and rough beard.

“No, you seem to be following me and now you’re on my private property.” The man pulled out his cell. “I should call the sheriff’s department and report you for trespassing.”

“Hey, we had no idea--” Stiles began, but Scott cut him off.

“What do you know about the murders?” Scott asked, just as Stiles was lowering his gun.

“I know you’re in over your head. I know you don’t have a clue what you’re dealing with.” The man crossed his arms, but didn’t put away his cell.

“We know we’re looking for a werewolf and we know that you were at the scene of the crime.” Scott crossed his arms as well and all Stiles could do was gape at him.

“Listen, pup, I don’t know what made you think you needed to come out here and snoop around, but you're in Hale territory and I don’t remember you asking permission to go sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong.”

Now Stiles was feeling indignant.

“You and your underage sidekick need to head right back out of town and leave this to the grownups.”

“Hey!” Stiles was half ready to pull out his I.D. on this asshole.

“We’re here on orders to look into your rogue werewolf problem. And if we don’t check in, they’re just going to send more hunters in after us.” Scott told him flatly.

At first the guy looked amused, like he might laugh, but this his face went hard and cold all over again.

“Hunters. Right. They take our kind now?” He shook his head, his face one of pure disgust. “You call whoever it is you’re working for and you tell them the Hales have this under control and that we do not appreciate them breaking our treaty to send you two idiots in. Remind them about the Argents. And if I see either of you again, on my property or otherwise, I’m not going to be as patient or accommodating I just was.”

“I wouldn’t use those words,” Stiles was mumbling, but Scott had him by the arm and was already pulling him off the other direction.

“Hey, hey, I can walk on my own,” Stiles protested, but Scott just continued to haul him through the woods like he was afraid Stiles might turn back and try to start something with Mr. Patient and Accommodating.

“We’ll talk in the jeep, come on.” Scott’s voice was terse, but Stiles could hear how worried he was so he tried to keep up and not trip over his feet too many times as they rushed back out to the edge of the forest.

Eventually Scott let him go and Stiles was able to move a lot quicker without all the tugging and werewolf speed walking. They made it out of the trees without further incident and then hiked back silently to the jeep. Even inside it, neither said a word, not until they were back in the motel, behind closed curtains, locked door, and almost too loud television.

“Dude,” Stiles was pacing, he was sort of freaking out really, and there was no way to explain it, but cranky biker dude? He seemed totally familiar and Stiles couldn’t figure out why.

“I know, okay. Hale. They’re related. This must be a pack thing we’ve stepped in the middle of.” Scott was running nervous hands through his hair as he half leaned half sat on the edge of the table.

“And something about a treaty? Pretty sure if that was relevant information, Dean would’ve mentioned it.” Stiles dropped down on the end of the bed, his heart rate only just starting to normalize.

“He said Argent, right, remind them about the Argents? I feel like the floor just fell out from under us. I’m surprised all he did was warn us off. It would’ve been his right to defend his territory against a strange wolf.” Scott was still visibly shaken, but Stiles was getting angry all over again.

“Well he didn’t see us as a threat, did he? More of a nuisance!”

“We have to call Dean, this can’t wait.” Scott was already pulling out his phone.

“Fine, you call him. Ask him just what the hell he sent us in to while you’re at it. I’m going to see what I can dig up about the Argents.” Stiles crossed to the table and pulled open his laptop, trying his best to calm down as he waited for it to boot up and for Scott to reach Dean. He didn’t have any explanation for why this was all hitting him so hard or why he was more insulted than scared by the alpha they’d met in the woods. They hadn’t even discussed it, but Stiles knew, in his bones, that guy was an alpha, and it only pissed him off when it should have had him as shaken as it had Scott, who was now excusing himself outside for his phone call.

Stiles didn’t blame him, really, he was probably choking on whatever scent Stiles was giving off and he’d need to focus to get all the info he needed from Dean. It only takes about ten minutes before Scott is slipping back inside, his face resigned. Stiles is about to click on his first hit on the Argent name, but he waits as Scott holds his phone out, not quite able to look Stiles in the eye.

“He wants to talk to you,” Scott tells him quietly.

Stiles feels that prickling again, it runs from his neck straight down his spine, but he takes the phone and lifts it to his ear anyway.

“Hey, Dean,” he begins, proud his voice doesn’t shake, because oh, there’s the delayed fear reaction.

“So there may be a thing or two I left out before I sent you down there.”

“Yeah, we’re figuring that out.”

“Thing is, I wasn’t sure there were any Hales left. Last I’d heard they’d moved to the other side of the states and their uncle was a permanent fixture in the hospital.”

“Okay, Peter Hale? The first victim?”

“Yeah.”

“What aren’t you saying, Dean?”

“The Hales were the pack that got destroyed right after Claudia died. I’m sorry. I should have said something before sending you out there.”  
Stiles couldn’t say anything. He wasn’t sure he could breathe. Because he remembered that there was a local pack involved, but he’d never known the details of why or how and the case of who had tried to kill them all and almost succeeded had never been solved as far as he knew. Even though he’d tried to look into it, he’d just been a kid and kept coming up empty handed. His dad had up and moved them when he’d realized he couldn’t keep Stiles away from the case and since the remaining family had moved he saw no reason to keep Stiles there if it meant him never being able to let go and grieve for his mom.

“What do I need to know about this treaty he mentioned and the Argents?” Stiles whispered.

“The Argents were a hunter family that got ran out of town because their leader, Gerard Argent, went off the rails, killing any werewolf he came across. We thought his daughter might’ve been involved with the fire, but there was never any proof. When nothing could be found the last of the Hale pack up and moved and we promised to keep the hunters away from them. I really had no idea they were back in Beacon Hills, but I should have assumed they would be, what with Peter Hale being murdered. If you don’t want this case any more, I’ll understand. We can send someone else.”

Stiles was scrubbing at his eyes with the heel of his palm. “This alpha told us to leave. He’s invoking your treaty with him. I’m not sure where that leaves us.”

“It leaves us in the same place we were before. That woman died today, the one in critical care? So it doesn’t matter if he doesn’t want hunters in town, he’s got ‘em.” Dean’s voice held a stony edge.

“Then we’ll stay. But we’re gonna need you to send us whatever you have on the Hales and the Argents and anything else that might be relevant.” Stiles was trying for authority in his voice but he knew he just sounded sullen.

“Sure thing. And Stiles? I really am sorry. I should’ve known, man.”

“Thanks, Dean. We’ll touch base again soon.” Stiles didn’t give him time to say goodbye, he just passed the phone back to Scott then sank back into a slump, his mind reeling.

Scott seemed to realize he wasn’t ready to talk yet so after he finished up with Dean on the phone he slipped into the bathroom with his sweatpants under his arm, and the sound of the shower turning on a moment later was something of a comfort because it was so normal. They had a lot they were going to have to talk about and they needed a new strategy, but for that moment Stiles could only think of his mom and how getting involved all those years ago had been the thing that killed her and here he was mixed up with whatever was happening and it made him cold, deep in the center of his gut. The owl, hooting softly somewhere close by wasn’t helping either.


End file.
